I Will Follow You Into The Dark
by roodlz
Summary: The Final Battle was won, the war is over. Yet Hermione Granger is nowhere to be found. After several years with no word, the wizarding world assumes Hermione dead, save for Severus Snape, who is hellbent on finding out where she is. M for mature content. Currently on hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **General disclaimer. I don't own, or make money from my musings.

J.K. Rowling graced us with the sandbox. I'm merely making sandcastles with Dungeon Bats and Know-It-All princesses.  
>As a warning, this fic is non DH compliant, but otherwise as canon as I can manage (save for the SSHGness.)

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><p>His eyes flew open as he took a heaving gasp, air flooding his lungs and oxygen filling his bloodstream. His hand flew to his throat, finding the skin cached with dried blood, but the wound knitted together, the only evidence of that ghastly snake bite a bit of raised flesh.<p>

He had been conscious as Hermione had clutched him to her chest, able to recognize and understand her stuttering between her sobs, but he had been unable to let her know he heard, unable to let her know that he felt the same way.

She had said she loved him.

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><p>"<em>Look. At. Me," he rasped as Potter crept closer, his brow furrowed in confusion. <em>

_Severus completed the transfer of memories, falling backwards with a shuddering gasp. Potter let out a cry as he registered the information, pulling at Hermione's sleeve, anxious to get back to the battlefield. _

"_Hermione! I've got it! We have to get back!" Without waiting on his friend, Potter was up and running, scrambling to get back through the underground passageway and out underneath the Whomping Willow. _

_The idiot didn't even look back to make sure Hermione was following him. _

_As his vision greyed at the edges, he saw Hermione crawl forward, felt her rifling through his robes. Every nerve ending was on fire, his bones ached. His felt himself weakening as blood continued to gush from the wound on his neck. _

_Hermione gave a ragged sob as she found the vials she was looking for. _

"_Severus," she hiccupped, pressing a cool glass phial against his lips. "Drink it! Please drink it!" She begged. "You can't die now...oh gods, you can't die."_

_He felt a stinging sensation slide down his throat, warring for supremacy with Nagini's bite. He managed a swallow, grimacing in both pain and disgust at the taste. He felt another phial being tipped into his mouth, and he wanted nothing more than to spit it out. But the pain was too great, and he couldn't hold on any longer._

_As he blacked out, he managed to catch one final glimpse of his beloved Hermione. _

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><p>Severus groaned as he shifted into a sitting position, shocked at how damned weak he was. He was alone in the Shrieking Shack, and he had a distinct feeling of weightlessness.<p>

In a fit of motion, he dragged the left sleeve of his coat up, nearly sobbing with relief at the patch of skin that had once borne his Dark Mark. The skin was darker than the rest of his pale forearm, but he was free. Potter had done it.

Severus had never imagined he would live to see the end of the despot's reign. He had never imagined that he might be able to truly enjoy his life free of the burdens of two masters. Free to live, love.

Gazing around the dusty room, he dimly registered that he was alone. Without Hermione. His chest ached at the thought that she may have gone to the battle, and could be lying on the ground among the carnage, wounded or dead.

Dead.

She couldn't be dead. Not when they had worked so damned hard to create a world where they could be together. He needed to fine Potter. He needed to find Hermione.

Brushing his hand across the floor next to him, his fingers bumped over his wand. Gripping it tightly, he summoned up his happiest memory. In one corner of his mind, he idly wondered just when his happiest memories no longer focused on Lily Evans, but instead on one Hermione Granger.

Absorbed in his musings, Severus didn't notice that as his Patronus was cast, it took not the form of a doe, but instead a silver otter.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! <em>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who has added IWFYID to your alerts/favorites lists! I was really surprised to get so many adds! To those who reviewed, many thanks to you too!

IWFYID has a pretty solid plot already laid out, I just need to get my thoughts out and into chapter form. Updating should be at least weekly, or more often if I'm feeling prolific :3

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling graced us with the sandbox. I'm merely making sandcastles with Dungeon Bats and Know-It-All princesses.

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><p>Pain. That was all she knew. Agonizing, excruciating pain. There was a roaring in her ears as she stumbled down a sidewalk, passersby giving her a wide berth as she dropped to her knees, screaming as she clawed at her head.<p>

_PAIN._

She had never felt anything like it. She had no idea who or where she was, what was happening, or how she had gotten there.

She barely registered the hand on her shoulder, shaking her.

"Are you okay?" The disembodied voice asked, another shake.

She screamed again, wresting her shoulder away from her assailant as she scrambled on the sidewalk to get away.

It felt as every sensation was a jolt of electricity, or a hook grating across sensitive nerve endings. It was unbearable. Another hand was on her shoulder, another voice asking if she was alright. The voices reverberated in her skull, joined with a high pitched cackling and more pain. Damn the pain!

More voices joined in the cacophony assaulting her senses, a crippling migraine seizing her. A pulse beat behind her eyes, and her head felt as though it were splitting in two. Coupled with the feeling as if someone were setting her on fire, all she could do was scream and scream, begging for it all to stop.

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><p>She didn't know how long she had been there, floating in a state of semi-consciousness. The pain came in waves, acting as the tide of her existence. It ebbed and flowed, with no rhyme or reason, just a shifting in her equilibrium as she learned to deal with the pain.<p>

The voices became constant company, riding with the flow of the pain. Some moments her mind was blissfully quiet, and the next it felt like her ears would bleed from the sheer volume of screams in her mind.

After what seemed to be an eternity of living in a grey world devoid of sense, she gradually found herself returning to consciousness.

Her hearing returned first, and she was able to register that she was in a hospital. The passage of time had previously alluded her, but from the talk of the nurses, it had been two weeks since she had been admitted, screaming and clawing at herself from unseen forces.

Touch, taste, and smell followed, and finally she could see once more.

It was night when she first truly awoke. Her mind was on edge; gone were the days of hazy semi-conscious thought. She was alert, and she was ready to fight. When she went to move, she found her wrists strapped securely to the edges of the bed, her ankles in a similar fashion.

She wanted to scream, to writhe and thrash until they came and released her. But as her faculties returned, as did her reasoning. She realized the need to appear stable and well grounded, despite how utterly out of touch with reality she'd been for the past fourteen days.

Morning found her dozing, though she awoke with a start when a nurse came to take her vitals. She smiled hesitantly at the orderly then attempted to speak, her throat still raw from screaming.

"Sir..." She managed. "I-I would really like a cup of water.."

The orderly jumped, apparently not used to the patient of Ward 5 – Bed 15 speaking.

At her imploring gaze, the orderly scurried off to inform the doctor's that W5B15 was awake and lucid enough to request a cup of water.

Moments later she was crowded by doctors left and right, her vitals being retaken, subject to poking and prodding from all sides.

She managed to keep her wits about her, answer their questions, and divert them to the conclusion that she had had a nervous breakdown, though she didn't know what it had been about.

"Now, Miss Jean…we need you to answer these next few questions to the best of your ability, alright?" Said the doctor to her right.

She scrunched up her eyes in thought, searching through her memories at any indication that her name might have been Jean.

"Sir…is Jean my name? I've no clue…" Confusion reigned for a moment, until it dawned on her that she had no recollection of _anything_. She tugged at her restraints, uncomfortable with the thought that she had no escape route, no avenue of freedom.

The doctor smiled sympathetically, then motioned for a nurse to step forward. She was instructed to open her mouth, and tilt her head back as the nurse popped a few pills in her mouth, quickly tipping a cup of water up to her lips.

Swallowing with some difficulty, she slumped back on her bed, brow furrowed as she felt her cognition slipping away, her senses hazy.

"You shedated meh," she slurred, scorn in her voice as she glared at the doctors gathered around her bed.

"Rest, Jean. We'll talk when you're no longer distressed. Hopefully your questions will be answered then.

'Jean' nodded, a scowl on her face as she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

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><p>Two week's time found Jean moved down to Ward 4, where the patients were self sufficient and not considered a danger to themselves or others. She no longer had to lie in bed tied down by restraints, and the doctors had cut back on her sedatives to much more manageable doses.<p>

She had diligently worked to ingratiate herself upon her doctors, assuring them that she was within her full faculties, despite her apparent case of retrograde amnesia.

The doctors informed her that when she had been brought in, when asked her name she had shrieked Jean, that she was seventeen, and she wanted to die.

While she no longer wanted to kill herself, her memory was no better off than it had been the night of her admittance.

According to the nurses, it was a Tuesday. For the patients, that meant chicken patties, steamed broccoli, salad, iced tea (caffeine free) and pudding for lunch. Jean wrinkled her nose at the thought, dreading another day of hospital meals.

Though she had no recollection of it, she knew that she had been present for some amazing meals in her life. Hospital meals just weren't going to cut it.

Trudging to the cafeteria, Jean plopped down in her favourite seat next to the window, staring out through the holes in the metal grating that covered the glass. She was tired of being in the hospital, and tired of not knowing who she was.

Lazily trailing a finger across the tabletop, she spelled out a name in neat, imaginary writing.

_Severus_.

The only name that stood out in her corrupted memories. The only link she had to her previous life. She didn't know what he looked like, who he was, or even how she knew him. But he was her lifeline. A life raft in a sea of forgotten memories.

She had to find him, had to find a connection to the life she had lost.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading!<em>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to **Rinny009**, who has steadfastly been there throughout my musings, kindly offering suggestions and opinions that have helped me continue writing IWFYID. :3

I'm still struggling with the format, but I'm working at ironing out the kinks. Thank you to my reviewers, and those who have been adding IWFYID to your story alerts!

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling graced us with the sandbox. I'm merely making sandcastles with Dungeon Bats and Know-It-All princesses.

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><p>St. Mungo's had done nothing for Severus over the following month of his recuperation from Nagini's bite. Magic did nothing to make hospital food taste good, and the potioneers had no concept of introducing additives to potions to make them any less disgusting.<p>

Had he really been shoving that shite down students' throats for years? He dared not dwell on the thought, coming to the conclusion that they deserved it in some way or another.

Thanks to Hermione's quick thinking, his own personal stores of anti-venom and blood replenishing potion, and a clever healing spell, Severus had survived, against all odds. He was stiff and sore most days, but alive. Walking was a novelty, and Minvera had done him a great service when she'd transfigured his lone visitor's chair in his room into a wheelchair. Not only did he gain transportation, but all visitors who came to annoy him were forced to stand and shuffle uncomfortably while he pointedly ignored their presence.

Potter visited him on most days, though Severus made it a matter of principle to keep the Boy-Who-Lived-Too-Many-Times at bay until he'd had his morning tea.

Each visit Severus made it a point to question Potter about Hermione. The same questions, same phrasing. Potter managed to keep his answers consistent, and even subjected himself to Legilimency.

Severus concluded early on that Potter had not become an Occlumens during his Horcrux hunt, and that his memories of leaving Hermione behind were genuine. The only question that plagued Severus was where had his beloved Hermione gone?

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><p><em>Patronus sent, Severus collapsed back against the wall, groaning in pain. The Cruciatus had nothing on that damned snake. <em>

_Time seemed to slow down to an excruciating crawl as Severus waited for Potter to come back through the passageway, toting Hermione and perhaps that useless Weasley boy and proclaim that the war was won. _

_Hermione would smile at him, nervously, perhaps worry her lower lip with her teeth. She wouldn't show it, but she would be happy to see he was alive, and her gaze would convey the promise of time together in the future. _

_But there was no Hermione. Instead Potter came bursting through the underground passage, exclaiming, "HERMIONE! WE DID IT! WE WON!"_

_The Boy-Who-Lived stumbled as he caught sight of Severus, very much alive and very much alone. _

"_SNAPE? What are you doing here? Where's Hermione?" Potter demanded, leveling his wand at the older man._

_Severus scowled, glaring up at Potter with contempt as he struggled to sit up straight._

"_I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Potter. I hadn't realized my life was forfeit as soon as that snake had her way with my jugular."_

_Frowning deeply, Potter shook his head, attempting not to mince words. "I didn't mean…oh bloody hell." Brow furrowed, he raked a hand through his messy hair, eyes troubled. "She sent her Patronus to me, Snape. I followed it and assumed she would be here…"_

_Raising an elegant eyebrow, Severus flexed his fingers in thought. "Mr. Potter, I was the one who sent you a Patronus. Miss Granger has not been here since I awoke."_

_Potter looked truly confused now, and Severus was chagrined to think that he had wasted six years of his life trying to teach the boy anything. _

"_Snape…what exactly is your Patronus form?"_

_Severus's lips pulled back in a sneer. "A doe, Potter. Please, spare me your idiotic sentimentality. What does it matter?"_

_Potter shuffled, his hands fidgeting with the fraying hem of his dirty jacket, one hand still firmly clasped around his wand. _

"_The Patronus that fetched me was an otter." At this, it was Potter's turn to glare. "Hermione's Patronus is an otter."_

_Severus blanched. When had his Patronus turned on him?_

"_I assure you, Mr. Potter," Severus said, managing to keep the tremble out of his voice. "I haven't the slightest inkling as to why that might be."_

"_Then where's Hermione, Snape?" Potter growled, advancing a step towards Severus. Apparently a plethora of memories proclaiming Severus's innocence couldn't sugar coat six years of verbal abuse and ill will. _

"_That is something I would have hoped you could answer, Mr. Potter. I haven't seen Miss Granger since she healed me. She had disappeared by the time I fully came to," Snape grumbled, trying to convince himself in the merit of hexing Potter to oblivion._

_Potter frowned again, beginning to pace. _

"_It's been hours since the battle finished. We've gathered the dead, found the injured, and collected the survivors into the Great Hall. Hermione wasn't there. No one has seen her since before, you know…" The boy shuffled at this, not wanting to bring up Severus's all too intimate encounter with Voldemort's blasted snake._

_Severus felt tendrils of alarm seize his heart as Potter's words sunk in. She was gone. _

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><p>Severus was profoundly grateful that Potter hadn't made the Patronus connection. With a grimace, Severus rolled himself to his window, praying that Potter's guilty conscience wouldn't bring him to the hospital yet <em>again<em>. He couldn't take another day of Potter's self-deprecation.

While Potter bemoaned his stupidity, Severus had sent out inquiries, some subtle, some blatantly obvious that he cared about the welfare of one Hermione Granger.

Having called in a favor with Shacklebolt, Severus had managed to get the Auror to track the lingering traces of magic from Hermione's Apparition. The trail ended in Muggle London, and Severus couldn't fathom why she would have gone there.

Upon searching the city, Hermione was nowhere to be found. Posters were put up in Diagon Alley, the Leaky Caldron, and anywhere else that Severus and Potter could think of that someone might have recognized the young witch.

There were reports, of course. A hag masquerading under glamour, out for the reward, or a seedy Knockturn Alley type who would drag a teenaged prostitute before the Ministry and claim it to be 'that Granger girl erryone's lookin' for'.

Yet there were no leads. No indication that anyone had an inkling as to the whereabouts of Hermione Granger.

But he wouldn't give up. Severus had found love, after over twenty years of living with the ghosts of past. He wasn't going to let it go that easily.

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><p>Thanks for reading! Please review!<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Things are starting to pick up now, and IWFYID is beginning to hit its stride. I'm finally catching up with the plot bunnies in my head, and I'm actually ahead on chapters, which is encouraging xD

Things are going to be getting a little darker in the future, so be prepared.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling graced us with the sandbox. I'm merely making sandcastles with Dungeon Bats and Know-It-All princesses.

Thank you to my reviewers, and those who have been adding IWFYID to your story alerts!

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><p>Jean had had enough of the hospital. She had had enough of her doctors. She had especially had enough of her medication.<p>

The pills made her feel fuzzy and light headed, as if her mind wasn't her own. It robbed her of concentration, of rational thought, and it made her feel numb to the world.

The doctors insisted that they were for her own good, though she knew this to be untrue. If she had any say, she would live her life unmedicated, locked in a library, and living off of cup-noodles like American uni students.

Perhaps the doctors' opinions had some merit after all.

Another two weeks had passed, and she was itching to get out of the hospital and into her live-in program.

She would be in a boarding house with several other 'troubled' teenagers, whatever that meant. Jean had a feeling that they were in for far worse than she, and rumors went that they were delinquents whose hobbies were kleptomania and arson.

Looking at herself in a mirror, Jean looked herself over, biting her lower lip as she turned, examining her thin hips and lean frame. She had been told that she had been malnourished and much too thin for her age, and that when admitted, she had the appearance of running wild before finding herself on the streets of London.

Her brown hair wasn't fabulous – by all means it was a bit more frizzy than she'd like, and it fell well past her shoulders. The nurses at the hospital had given her a trim, with promises of letting her get it styled before she went to her live-in.

She plucked at her bangs, brows drawing together as she realized that they were uneven. Proper trim her arse.

"They can't do a decent trim, but they're entrusted with the mental wellbeing of hundreds of patients every day?" She scoffed, turning in a slow circle as she continued to examine herself.

The hospital had furnished her with the abandoned clothes of past patients. Lost and found, a second hand store or two, and hasty measurements had her outfitted in baggy shirts and jeans cinched tight with frayed belts, a pair of trainers half a size too big, and a bra that had seen better days long ago.

The shirts hung off her frame, the jeans were too big, and her undergarments long past second hand. But she was clothed, and out of those blasted hospital gowns.

Shuddering a bit at the memories of the gowns, she rolled her shoulders.

"Hi, my name is Jean. I'm seventeen, and I have no memories of my life past my time on a psychiatric ward!" She said brightly, though her expression was sour.

Taking another step closer to the mirror, she reached out, pressing her hand against the glass. "Hi...My name might be Jean...I might be seventeen...I might never remember who I am," she murmured, closing her eyes against the onslaught of tears that were constantly lurking.

"Severus...where are you? I need you to find me," she choked out, clenching her fingers against the mirror.

Straightening, she drew back her shoulders, taking a deep breath. She didn't need the doctors walking in on her crying. They'd sedate her, shuffle her off to bed, and tell her that they would wait on the live-in program. Again.

"Yo, Jean," a voice sounded from the doorway. She looked over her shoulder at the grinning visage of Thom Jenkins, a twenty two year old manic depressive who had landed himself on Ward 4 after experiencing a bout of mania that led him to take part in drunken revels across the countryside until he was caught using a maxed out credit card in London.

With sandy blond hair, blue eyes with a mischievous twinkle, and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, Thom was the epitome of that boy next door parents were afraid of corrupting their own children. His grin was contagious, and his penchant for trouble was catching.

Jean had assumed she was the 'goodie two shoes' type until Thom had demonstrated how much fun there was to be had in mischief making.

Thom was bright and funny, though Jean was wary of his mood swings. He rapid cycled and was a bit of an emotional wildcard most days.

"Hello Thom," Jean said with a smile, turning to face her 'friend'. They had quickly found that they were the highest functioning life forms on Ward 4, and had made a pact to keep each other sane till discharge.

"Rumor is they got a bunch of new puzzles from a continued care facility across the way. Apparently their old codgers over there got tired of Norman Rockwell, yeah?"

Jean wrinkled her nose. She hated puzzles. How she loathed them. Thom was of a like mind; they had been doing their damnedest to sabotage Ward 4's supply of them before discharge.

Thom grinned, but didn't come past the threshold of her door. Rules were rules, and male patients were not to fraternize with female patients in their rooms.

"How close are we now, Thom?" She asked, fingering the frayed hem of her t-shirt.

Thom thought on it. "Five days. We'll both be out of here next Tuesday."

"Think we'll get out on time to skip Chicken Patty Tuesday?" She asked, wrinkling her nose at the thought.

Thom chuckled. "Dear lord, I hope so. I can't take another day of Carl dipping his chicken patty in pudding and cheese sauce at the same time," he muttered, giving a slight shudder at the thought.

"Where will you go after this?" She asked, walking across the room and past him into the ward's common room.

"Ah, the age old question. Hm. I take it drunken revels are out?"

Jean glared at him as they walked, and was of a mind to waggle a disapproving finger at him.

"You came here for a reason, Thom," she admonished.

"So did you," he countered. "You're just lucky enough to not remember."

Jean shot him a warning look as she plopped down onto one of the threadbare couches, reaching for the war-veteran known as the telly remote.

"That's neither here nor there," she growled, flipping channels with a vengeance. Reports had been that the odd happenings over the past year had stopped, and that the nation was seeing a drop in crime rates. It seemed like this should be fairly important to Jean, but she couldn't bring herself to care. There were more important things to worry about, like finding that Severus fellow and remembering her life before the ward.

She glanced at Thom to find him studying her a little too intently.

"What?" She snapped.

Thom shrugged. "Just thinking. What'll you do if you don't get your memories back? Who will you become? There's no telling if that Severus bloke will ever ride up on his stallion and save you, you know."

Jean looked away again, her jaw set.

"Don't say that, Thom..."

Thom shrugged again. "All I'm saying is don't put your faith in other people. They'll always let you down. Especially some bloke you don't even know."

"Then what would you suggest? I travel with you after my live in and we spend our days getting drunk and high in hippie communes across the country side?" She spat, crossing her arms with a huff.

Thom grinned, nodding. "That's exactly what I was going to suggest. How'd you read my mind?"

Jean gaped at him. "No. Absolutely not. No way."

"And what else do you have to lose? Your shitty memories of this place too?" He asked, encompassing the ward in a sweeping gesture of his arm.

"I know some great people out in that big bad world, Jean. They'll help you forget all about remembering. I'll help. We'll make you a brand new set of memories, so you don't have to pine after a past that doesn't matter anyways."

Thom's smile was genuine as he leaned towards her, his elbows on his knees.

"You're a smart girl, Jean. Together, we could live the lives of wanderers. Backpack it across the continent, run off to America for a bit. See the sights, smell the smells, enjoy a toke here or there."

Jean leveled a glare at him.

"You're not getting me high, Thom," she stated, squirming into a more comfortable position in the ragged couch cushions.

"Eh, semantics. Fine then. I'll get high, and you'll record all our adventures for posterity. I'll expect photographic evidence, of course. Then you'll author a book, and we'll get rich off the royalties. You'll pay a hypnotist to get back those rotten memories of yours, and maybe a private eye to find that Severus fellow you're so keen on knowing."

Jean gave him a sidelong look, her brow furrowed.

Thom grinned, knowing full well he'd planted a seed of doubt in Jean's mind. There was a reason mothers kept their daughters, and some sons, from Thom Jenkins.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading &amp; please review!<em>


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Chapter five! I spent a lovely day shopping with my mother and composing multiple chapters of IWFYID on my iPod. Chapters four, five, and six were composed in this very fashion xD

You all have been lovely with your reviews, and I am ever so grateful for them! I'm also grateful for everyone who has added IWFYID to their story alerts! It does this Roo's heart good to get some positive feedback. I've been catching up on replying to my reviews, so if I don't reply immediately, don't worry!

This chapter is the calm before the storm, so be prepared for it to get a fair bit darker in the future.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling graced us with the sandbox. I'm merely making sandcastles with Dungeon Bats and Know-It-All princesses.

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><p>Severus was spared being paraded in front of the Wizengamot like a prized hog being sent for slaughter.<p>

Potter managed to convince them with his testimony alone that Severus had only been acting on orders, much to the chagrin of the Wizengamot's more radical members.

Shacklebolt, as good a barrister as he was an Auror, represented Severus, and made the argument that while Severus was working both fronts, the esteemed Wizengamot members were off examining wizards and witches of Muggle heritage and imprisoning them in Azkaban. How could they begin to question Severus's heroism when they were out on veritable Muggle-hunts?

Instead of imprisonment in Azkaban, Severus found himself a war hero and the proud owner of an Order of Merlin, First Class with a generous stipend for damages received to his person at the hands of Ministry radicals calling for his blood.

All in all, he found his situation fairly ironic, if not well paid.

He had been most displeased to find that he could not accept his Order of Merlin medal _in absentia_ as Hermione had. He was forced to stand on stage and accept the medal with grimfaced grace next to Potter and Weasley, who received their awards grinning like fools.

It wasn't until Severus pointed out that the brains of the Golden Trio was missing out on the momentous occasion that the two dunderheads had the mind to look properly shamefaced at their enthusiasm when their best friend was more than six months missing.

Potter had indeed eventually made the 'Patronus Connection', as Severus called it. The Boy-Who-Never-Graduated was able to make the initial deduction after the fanfare from Voldemort's downfall had lessened, though Severus had begun to wonder if the idiot would ever put two-and-two together to reach the obvious conclusion.

Upon Potter's epiphany, the 18 year old was found attempting to break down the door to Spinner's End, shouting obscenities and promises of hexes if Severus didn't open the door 'right this instant!'

Severus flung open his doo and dragged the idiot boy inside, wondering why the hell he hadn't let Quirrell off the boy his first year.

"Mr. Potter," Severus snarled in his best disgruntled 'Git' voice.

Potter flinched instinctively.

"I would suggest in the future you attempt to contact me via Floo or owl when you feel the need to harass me during my hard won solitude."

Potter glowered, crossing his arms.

"Your Patronus is an otter!" He accused, with no attempt at preamble.

"I believe we've gone over this, Mr. Potter," Severus snapped. "Now if you'd be so kind as to remove yourself from my presence, I'd be eternally grateful."

Potter shook his head belligerently.

"Not until you've told me the truth."

"What truth is there to tell? Do elaborate," Severus sneered.

"Your Patronus used to be a doe, because you were in love with my mum," Potter began, shuffling uncomfortably in place.

"Patronuses only change when the caster has strong feelings about someone...Hermione is the only feasible explanation, Snape. You had feelings for her!"

Severus worked hard to keep his expression carefully neutral.

"I am not following your logic, Potter. Now please, leave my house and leave me be!" He growled.

Potter shook his head. Stubborn, just like his idiot father.

"No! I know you have feelings for her! I've talked to Kingsley, and I've talked to the shopkeepers on Diagon Alley. They've all said the same thing: you go there nearly every day and ask about Hermione. You've been hounding Aurors and looking into magical tracing with the Ministry! You've talked to more people than me!" Potter's voice was rising, as was his emotional level.

"I'd wager you didn't want anyone to know, and that you offed her! You couldn't let anyone know that a greasy old dungeon bat like you had the hots for your student! So you got rid of her before calling me to the Shrieking Shack! You offed her in cold blood, you slimy bastard! You've been acting like you cared to throw people off your trail!" The boy was outright yelling, jabbing a finger at his former professor's chest for emphasis.

Severus wasn't sure if he had felt such rage in the entirety of his life. White hot, it coursed through his veins like liquid fire, and it took every shred of self control he had not to kill Potter right there.

Instead, he grabbed the little insolent bastard by the neck of his robes and physically dragged him to his front door.

"If you ever, EVER step foot on my property touting such accusations again, I will hex you to oblivion, Potter! Now GET. OUT. OF. MY. HOUSE!" He roared before flinging open his door and throwing the boy out onto the sidewalk.

Satisfied with the sickening crack that followed Potter's landing, Severus slammed and warded his door, stalking to his study.

Still in a fit of rage, Severus rifled through his liquor cabinet with reckless abandon, cursing under his breath until he found his most potent bottle of Firewhiskey, not bothering to make use of a tumbler.

Instead he uncapped the bottle and took a long swig, growling as it burned down his throat and settled in his belly.

Plopping down into his worn leather armchair, Severus's mind strayed to the first time Hermione had approached him with her 'proposition'. The beginning of the end.

* * *

><p><em>Severus looked up at the soft knock on his door. Setting aside his Potions Monthly subscription, he schooled his expression of relaxed contentment into a scowl that would leave any first year wetting their trousers. <em>

_"Enter," he snapped, leaning back in his chair. _

_Sixth year Hermione Granger poked her head inside his office door, smiling nervously. _

_"Ah...Professor Snape?"_

_Severus rolled his eyes, not in the mood for her silly girlish nervousness, however misplaced it might have been. _

_He had his reservations as to why she would decide to come and bother him during his free period. The fact that she was visiting his office personally, when she could very well have stayed after class earlier that day, must have meant that she had something of importance to discuss with him. He delighted in her pending humiliation. _

_"I said 'enter' , Miss Granger. Please don't make me repeat myself again, or I believe I'll soon find myself docking points."_

_Granger gave a little squeak of alarm before stepping inside his office, shutting the door softly behind her. _

_Severus noted this with a smirk. The girl apparently didn't want any of her friends to know she was consorting with the likes of the Dungeon Bat. _

_"Get on with it, Granger. I won't hesitate to take your beloved House Points for wasting my time, either."_

_Granger sat down on the rickety wooden chair in front of his desk, and he detected a discreet cushioning charm being cast before she began to speak. _

_"I need a tutor, sir," she said in one quick gush of words. _

_Oh yes, Severus thought. This would be good. _

_"And why should I take any interest in this fact, Miss Granger?" He drawled. _

_Granger's fingers twitched, and he knew she was itching to fiddle with something. _

_"Because...because I want you to tutor me," she stammered, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. _

_Severus nearly chortled, but had enough self restraint to instead appear disgusted. _

_"And why, Miss Granger, would you assume that I would suffer your presence any more than is required?"_

_Granger flinched, but continued on. "Sir...it can't be anyone else."_

_Severus raised an elegant eyebrow, his interest piqued. What was Granger about to confess?_

_Fiddling with the hem of her skirt, Granger's eyes dropped to her hands. _

_"Why is that, Granger?" He sneered. "Do you believe that by the virtue of your presence in my life, I might find redemption? Or perhaps you have an unconscious need to be near the greasy old git for your own amusement?"_

_Granger's head snapped up, a challenge in her eyes, even as her cheeks colored. _

_"No, actually," she snapped, before remembering it was a professor to whom she was speaking. _

_Severus's lip curled in a another sneer. "I dare say, Miss Granger, that I find myself curious as to why an upstanding know-it-all such as yourself would need a tutor. Why not Minerva? Or even that wand waver Flitwick? Any number of the other staff members would readily throw themselves at your feet to continue your tutelage," he snarled. "What brings you here, to my office? And furthermore, why would you assume that I would be willing to help you?"_

_Granger's cheeks were a bright red now, but she held her ground. Gryffindor courage, indeed. A lioness that had no idea of the bite of the snake she had approached. _

* * *

><p>Severus was drawn from his drunken musings by a tapping on his study window.<p>

Staggering to the other side of the room, Severus couldn't quite recall the last time he'd been that inebriated.

Flinging open the window, he startled the tawny brown owl that had perched upon the windowsill.

In a flurry of feathers and disgruntled squawking, the owl flew a few paces away before returning to the window, sticking its leg out with what could only be described as an attitude.

Plucking the scroll from its leg, Severus slammed the window and moved back to his armchair to read the missive.

_Snape,_

_I'm sorry for the way I acted. _

_I suppose a broken wrist, a smashed nose, and maybe even a fractured cheek bone are enough to knock some sense into a fellow. _

_I got to thinking about it, and I figured 'why would he off the person who saved him'? Even if it was Hermione. _

_Maybe you were so grateful, your Patronus turned. I have no idea. Ron said I should be glad that somebody cares enough to find 'Mione, so I guess I should thank you. _

_Everyone's beginning to give up, Snape. I'm glad that there's at least one person who hasn't. _

_Sorry for yelling at you. _

_-Harry J. Potter_

Severus snorted as he tossed the letter onto his desk, glaring at the floor.

"Insolence. I hope Ginevra's Skele-Gro tastes like flobberworms," he spat as he crossed his arms.

From the contents of Potter's letter, the Boy-With-No-Faith was giving up on finding his best friend.

Severus would be damned if he ever gave up.

* * *

><p><em>Thank you for reading! Please review!<br>_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers! It's a Turkey Day update! Couldn't help myself in updating today, even if this chapter is rather serious.

I changed the rating of IWFYID due to this chapter, and the level of content in upcoming chapters. This story is taking a decidedly dark turn, and this chapter makes that quite evident.

_If you are offended by material depicting drug/alcohol abuse, torture, and other potentially explicit scenes, then please do not continue reading IWFYID. Those of you who are willing to press on, thank you for reading. Things will eventually look up in this story, if you're willing to see it through. _

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling graced us with the sandbox. I'm merely making sandcastles with Dungeon Bats and Know-It-All princesses.

* * *

><p>Six months at the live in program had not done Jean much good. The only positive outcome was that she had gained an identity.<p>

Jean Lillian Russell, eighteen years old, remedial high school graduate, type A bloodtype, medium height and of average weight, was decidedly normal as she ventured out into the world.

Save for the amnesia, of course.

The day she walked away from Madam Salon's House for Wayward Souls was a day of freedom Jean relished.

As if it were clockwork, Thom Jenkins arrived on Madam Salon's doorstep the day Jean was due to leave.

Madam Salon was inherently grateful that the know-it-all little swot was out of her hands and free to terrorize the rest of Britain. Without questioning the validity of Thom's claim to be a cousin, Madam Salon unceremoniously shoved Jean and her suitcase of meager belongings out of the door and out of her life.

Thom grinned at Jean, sticking out a hand.

"Thom Jenkins, one long lost relative of Jean Lillian Russell, at your service!"

Jean giggled and grasped his hand warmly, surprised when he pulled her in for a hug.

"Good to see you, Retro."

Jean wrinkled her nose at the nickname, but took it in stride.

"I take it Severus and his horse got lost, yeah?"

Nodding, Jean followed Thom out to the waiting cab.

"I'm beginning to think he's a figment of my imagination. But it was nice to dream, y'know?"

Thom nodded, bowing as he held the door open for her.

"M'lady, your carriage awaits," he said with a thickened accent, chuckling as she boxed his right ear before getting in.

"Hey now! No damaging your tow-head in shining cab!"

Jean giggled as Thom stowed her beaten up suitcase in the trunk of the cab before plopping down and slamming the door.

"So, where are we headed?"

"Glastonbury."

Jean blinked, tilting her head. "Glastonbury? What in the bloody hell are we going there for?"

Thom chuckled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Jean's ear in an oddly intimate gesture.

"Glastonbury is the location of an ashram. We're going to get right in the best way, then we're going to hit the countryside. Hope you're ready for a bit of a hike," he said with a devilish grin.

A feeling of foreboding began to coil in Jean's middle, but she attributed it to pre-ashram jitters.

"You know I'm an agnostic, right? Madam Salon nearly had a fit when she found out I've got no stake in an eternal life spent with a doting fatherly figure who wants my eternal soul and piety," she said, her expression neutral.

Thom waved a hand. "Pish posh, Jean. The ashram isn't about whether you believe in an almighty god or not. It's about finding inner peace, and living life by a simple set of principles. Besides, we're going there to detox from the trials and tribulations of everyday life."

"Like what?"

"Meat."  
>"Meat?"<br>"Meat. The ashram is vegan. We're going all natural, dear."

Jean made a face, sticking her tongue out. "Yuck."

Chuckling, Thom gave her shoulder a friendly pat. "Fear not, dearheart. There is more merit to this. The ashram prepares you. By finding your center naturally, it'll be much more fun to reach inner peace by other means," he explained with a wicked smile.

Jean blinked, biting her lower lip. Just what was Thom going to introduce her to?

* * *

><p>Jean figured she could live a vegetarian existence for the rest of her life. But if Thom forced her to live another week as a vegan, she was going to off herself.<p>

The ashram had indeed brought inner peace. And emaciation. And surplus amounts of illegal substances that Thom swore were good for the soul.

Jean managed to avoid everything but marijuana, but her logical mind told her that with luck, she wouldn't form an addiction and the fallout wouldn't be nearly as bad as some of the other stuff Thom actively used.

Fingering her prayer beads as she walked, Jean thought on her latest 'visions'. During meditation, she often saw snatches of another reality. There were snippets of a dark haired man, of a castle, and two teenage boys that she had no recollection of, though they seemed achingly familiar.

While those in the ashram called her snippets 'visions', Jean was convinced that they were fragments of her shattered memories. The peace and quiet that meditation afforded allowed her to center herself and see those fragmented bits of another reality, of her past.

Yet try as she might, she couldn't get a firm grasp on her memories. They eluded her, and trying to hold onto them was akin to trying to hold water. The memories were fluid, gave no traction, and flowed away from her no matter how hard she tried to retain them.

Plopping down in one of the many vegetable gardens the ashram kept, Jean lay on her back, sifting her fingers through the freshly turned soil.

_Severus. _

Despite what she had told Thom, she fully believed that Severus would find her, somehow. Someday.

She couldn't give up on him, wouldn't.

"Yo, Jean," Thom called out as he strode across the lawn, looking perfectly at home in his ashram robes, his ensemble topped off with a long string of prayer beads.

"Not a moment's peace," Jean snapped as she closed her eyes to the midday sun.

Thom chuckled.

"Sorry, dear. But it's that time."

Jean opened one eye, wary of Thom's overly cheerful tone. "Time for what?"

"For you to get well acquainted with some of my closest friends."

He offered a hand and she took it, grumbling as he helped her up out of the garden.

"I'm not spending more time with Alex, if that's what you're hinting at. I refuse to deal with him and his weird milk addiction. Aren't they supposed to be vegan here?"

Thom wrinkled his nose. "Details, details. Now. Do you trust me?"

Jean frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Rolling his eyes, Thom looped an arm through hers, pulling her close. "You're all I've got, Jean. I know I'm all you've got. We made a pact once, to stick together. I want to know if you trust me."

"With my life," Jean replied steadily, wondering where Thom was heading with the topic.

"Good. Now you're going to have to trust me implicitly soon. I will guide you through it, and you are going to feel better than you've ever felt before. Promise me you'll listen to every word I say?"

Jean felt a tendril of fear snake through her belly, but she only clutched tighter to Thom's arm.

"Okay...I promise."

* * *

><p>Jean was floating in a sea of bliss. She had truly never felt this wonderful, this relaxed before.<p>

Thom hadn't lied – she felt better than she had ever felt, at least as far as she could recall. Damn Thom, she thought cheerfully. He had lulled her into a false sense of security, then ambushed her with the needle and promises of a high like she'd never experienced.

She was spiralling downwards, her body feather light as she watched her memories play in front of her, a cascading film strip that depicted her life from the ward until the present.

As she went further, Jean saw a memory that was unfamiliar. Reaching out, she touched it, and it sprung to life, expanding until it encompassed her entire being.

She was five, and there was a birthday cake. Five little yellow candles, on top of a blue and green cake with little sugar books adorning the corners sat in front of her, the candles waiting to be blown out.

She couldn't read the icing, or the name that it spelled out, but she knew instinctively that it was her name. Her birthday party.

"Make a wish..." A disembodied voice called out, full of love.

"The biggest wish you can think of!" Another voice murmured, and Jean felt as though she were wrapped up in pure warmth and happiness.

Five year old Jean blew out the candles, smiling up at two adults, whose faces were blurred and distorted by the ever changing current of the memory. Jean knew it was her parents smiling at her, and she smiled back at them.

* * *

><p>Jean gasped as she bolted upright, covered in a fine sheen of sweat from head to toe.<p>

Had she really done that?

Had Thom really done that to her?

Looking around wildly, Jean found herself in her room at the ashram, very much alone and in the dark.

"Severus," Jean whimpered, drawing her knees up to her chest.

She was afraid. Afraid of what she had done, of what she had experienced. But most of all, she was afraid of a small voice in the back of her mind, whispering at her to do it again.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading! Please review!<em>


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **It hurt me to write that last chapter. Damn Thom, and poor Jean. But this is a journey for all our beloved characters, and journeys aren't always sunshine and butterflies, ne?

To those of you who are going to stick it through and follow Jean and Severus on their roads to healing, thank you.

I am currently pretending like I can beta my own story. If anyone has any time to run a cursory glance over IWFYID to make sure it isn't complete rubbish, by all means, shoot me a PM :x

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling graced us with the sandbox. I'm just making sandcastles with Dungeon Bats and Know It All princesses.

* * *

><p>The following year gave Severus plenty of practice in split second Apparition. It was a wonder he hadn't splinched himself, considering that half the time he Apparated while drunk.<p>

He had taken over tracing Hermione's magical signature; the Aurors had quickly tired of his incessant hounding and had given him the tracker spell attuned to Hermione's particular trace.

Severus knew without a doubt that Hermione was alive. How well off she was, he was not sure. Whenever her magic flared, Severus was gone with a resounding CRACK, and by the time he got there, she had disappeared.

Her absence worried him, but what was left behind was even more troubling.  
>More and more, he found himself appearing amongst a group of drugged up young adults, most of them riding extended highs.<p>

The recurring factor was an abundance of abandoned needles, and the pointed absence of the users.

Questioning the surrounding young adults, Severus wasn't often gifted with answers. Most of them were too far gone that they yielded no results, even with Legilimency.

Yet when he was lucky, there was one name that constantly cropped up.

_Jean._

* * *

><p><em>"It has to be you, sir," Granger repeated, holding his gaze. <em>

_Severus gave a bark of a laugh. It was a cruel sound. "Really? Miss Granger, I assure you, you will not benefiting from my tutelage outside of my Defence class."_

_Granger took a deep breath, shaking her head. _  
><em>"Professor Snape, it can't be anyone else."<em>

_Damned Gryffindor stubbornness.  
><em>

_"My patience is wearing thin, Miss Granger. You have all of five seconds to get yourself out of my office and out of my dungeons before Gryffindor loses fifty points for harassment of a professor," he growled. _

_While stubborn, Granger was not stupid. _  
><em>She gave him a curt nod and got up and walked to the door. <em>  
><em>"I'll be back, Professor. This is really important. Not just for me, but for everyone."<em>

_Severus leaned back in his chair after the door had shut and he was fairly certain that Granger was off towards Gryffindor Tower once more. _

_What in the world did she want to learn that she couldn't gain from her other professors?_

* * *

><p><em>He was only given a two day reprieve from Granger's tenacity. She cornered him after lunch in the Great Hall, in front of Albus, no less, and cheerfully declared that she needed to speak with him about her potions research. <em>

_When Severus made to dismiss her with less than kind words, Albus caught the Potions Master's gaze._

_"Miss Granger is conducting her own potions research, Severus? How delightful! Miss Granger, I expect you to come and appraise me of your findings," he declared, eyes twinkling. _

_Severus seethed. The old bastard was in on this farce!_

_Granger had the grace to appear embarrassed, though somewhat pleased with herself. _  
><em>"Well, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape hasn't agreed to look over my research yet..."<em>

_Albus raised an eyebrow, turning to examine Severus. _  
><em>"Really? Severus, I would expect that you would want to know what our esteemed Miss Granger is researching. Why don't the two of you discuss it over tea during your free period?"<em>

_Severus sneered. "Yes, Headmaster. Why don't I just throw on a skirt and dance the Can-Can in my free time as well?"_

_Albus chuckled, turning to his goblet of pumpkin juice. _  
><em>"Let me know when you do, Severus. I could do with a good laugh."<em>

_Severus shook his head in disbelief. Was Albus really sentencing him to 'tea' with Granger?_  
><em>No matter. He need only suffer her presence for a moment; long enough to satisfy Albus's sick sense of humor, then he would send her on her way. <em>

_Granger looked entirely too pleased with herself as she followed him out of the Great Hall and to his office. _

_Letting her go in first, Severus proceeded to slam the door behind him, causing the sixth year to jump slightly. _

_"Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger," he spat. _

_Granger whirled around, eyes bright with anger. "Sir! That's not fair!"_

_Severus smirked. "Five more points for questioning a Professor's judgement. Shall I take twenty more for insolence?"_

_Granger crossed her arms, huffing belligerently. _  
><em>"No, sir."<em>

_"You're playing a dangerous game, Miss Granger," Severus murmured as he sat behind his desk, his voice a silken purr. _

_Granger sat down in the rickety wooden chair in front of his desk, fidgeting. _  
><em>It was clear he had made her uncomfortable. <em>

_"This isn't a game sir," she managed. _

_"Then what would you like to call this little farce, Miss Granger? I assure you, I do not enjoy being manipulated," he growled, and he could see the girl shudder slightly. A part of him secretly hoped it was out of revulsion. _

_"I-I'm not trying to manipulate you, sir. I just...it has to be you. Time is running out."_

_Severus leaned forward, propping his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers. _  
><em>"I think it would be best if you find your way out of my office, Miss Granger. There is no telling what may happen if you press my patience any further."<em>  
><em>She sent a withering glance at him as she stood, tucking her hands into the pockets of her robes. <em>  
><em>"Professor Snape, I assure you, I would not be willingly seeking out your company if it wasn't absolutely necessary."<em>

_Severus raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. _

* * *

><p><em>Their little game lasted several weeks. Miss Granger found every opportunity to hound him, and wasn't above using other professors to finagle meetings with him. <em>

_Gryffindor lost more points during the following month from one professor than it had in recent years. _  
><em>That wasn't to say that Granger wasn't more than capable of earning them back. Severus often saw that the deficit of points he had caused was often negated by the points she earned in other classes. <em>

_Granger's antics became a favourite topic of staff room conversation, and the other professors often teased him, asking how long it had been since the resident Know-It-All had plagued him. _

_Minerva found it especially humorous, because she knew from experience that turning Hermione Granger away only served to spur her on. _

_"You know, Severus," she began one day over a cup of tea. "You could make it easy on yourself and just hear Hermione out."_

_Severus's lip curled back in a sneer. _  
><em>"I think not, Minerva. I'm not here to cater to the girl's silly fancies. She has no business researching potions, and I certainly am not about to help her in that endeavour. I have plenty of other business to attend to without babysitting a Know-It-All swot like Granger."<em>

_Minerva sniffed disapprovingly, but had no counter argument. _

_Later that day, Severus found himself standing outside of his office, wand out and senses on high alert. _  
><em>His wards had been broken, and his mind instantly leapt to think of the worst case scenario. <em>

_Instead of finding a Death Eater, the Dark Lord, or an Auror waiting for him, he instead walked in upon Granger, who was calmly examining the book case on the far wall. _

_Tenacity. Courage. Stupidity. All highlights of Gryffindor character. All traits he found equally irritating in one Hermione Granger.  
><em>

_"What do you think you're doing in my office, Granger?" He rumbled, dangerously close to losing all semblance of self restraint. _

_"All you had to do was give me more than ten minutes of your time, Professor," she snapped. "I wouldn't have had to resort to these lengths, lower myself to these tactics to gain an audience with you."_

_Severus showed his teeth in an uncharacteristic expression of anger. _  
><em>"You would do well to leave now with a one hundred point loss before I see to it that you're expelled, Granger," he ground out through clenched teeth. <em>

_Granger shook her head. "Hear me out, sir. I guarantee you won't see me expelled, no matter how hard you petition the Headmaster for my removal."_

_Severus paused, not used to hearing Granger employ such underhanded logic._

_"Miss Granger, we've been dancing around this ridiculous discussion for nearly a month now. I am beyond my patience and have exceeded the allotted amount of time I am required by contract to spend with you by tenfold. So tell me, why. Are. You. Here?"_

_Granger's lips quirked up in a predatory smile._ _She had finally gotten his attention._  
><em>"You're the only one who would understand, sir. You're the only one who can help me keep Harry alive. You're the only one I can trust to teach me, the only one I know won't coddle me. If we're going to make it to the end of this war, Harry Potter needs to live."<em>

_Severus blinked, drawing his robes around himself as he attempted to process the information. _  
><em>"Why would I care if Potter lives or dies, Granger? With the way the boy throws his life around, I'm surprised he's lived this long," he sneered. <em>

_Granger shook her head, her brown curls falling en masse around her shoulders. _

_"It's more than that, sir. Something's coming. This is the calm before the storm. You know better than anyone what that entails.  
><em>

_Severus scowled, turning his back on her. _

_"That still does not tell me why you are here, why you are petitioning me to teach you. What could I begin to teach the great Hermione Granger?" He snarled, shooting her a look of intense loathing over his shoulder._

_"I need you to teach me how to survive, Professor Snape. I need you to teach me how to keep two often idiotic teenage boys alive long enough for one of them to save the world."_

_Severus considered this for a moment, pivoting to face her once more. _  
><em>"And if I agree?"<em>

_Granger opened her hands in mock surrender. _  
><em>"Whatever you want. Within reason, of course."<em>

_Severus's mind automatically leaped to darker thoughts, but he quickly quelled them. Instead he sat behind his desk, drumming his fingers on the aged wood. _

_"I will...consider it. Answer me this, Granger. Did the Headmaster put you up to this?"_

_Granger shook her head. "I have his blessing, of course. But this foolhardy idea is all my own," she said with a grin full of self deprecation. _

_"Very well. Meet me here next Monday at 7 o'clock sharp. If you are late, I will not hesitate to dock points and assign you detentions for the rest of the year. Am I clear?"_

_Granger nodded, moving to the office door. _  
><em>"I shall see you then, sir."<em>

_Severus scowled, waving her off. "Leave me be, witch. And if you come here spouting about your eternal gratitude and countless other expressions of Gryffindorish sentiment, I will not hesitate to hex you and claim to have found you petrified in the hallways."_

_Granger had the audacity to grin as she nodded. "Of course, sir. Have a good evening."_  
><em>With a nod she slipped out of his office, humming to herself as she made her way out of the dungeons. <em>

_Severus groaned as he reapplied his wards, adding several more layers of protection and a silencing spell before leaning back in his chair, massaging his temples. _

_Of any student to have approached him, why did it have to be Granger?_

* * *

><p><em>Thank you for reading! Please review!<em>


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Wow! All the reader alerts and reviews have definitely stroked my ego. Thank you all so much for taking an interest in IWFYID! You guys rock.

Things are picking up again, and we're close to being caught up. It's gone by so fast! But never fear, there's still quite a ways before we reach the conclusion to this fic.

The posting schedule is still set to be pretty consistent, until I get writer's block (oh noes!). I can't see it being more than twenty chapters, but hey! You never know.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling graced us with the sandbox. I'm just making sandcastles with Dungeon Bats and Know-It-All princesses.

* * *

><p>Nearly two years with Thom had not served Jean well.<p>

The first few months had been a thrilling roller coaster ride of discovery. Each time she shot up with Thom she was rewarded with a new memory. Though vague and often fuzzy, the memories buoyed her, and she always came to aching for more.

A year and six months in Thom's company left Jean addicted to heroin in every sense, though she had been shying away from the stuff as of late.

She found that along with the wonderful memories of her parents and nameless friends there were other memories, darker in substance and full of pain.

It was after those memories that she would always consider quitting, abandoning Thom to find a rehab center and get clean for good.

Against her better judgement she always allowed Thom to lure her back with promises of safety and acceptance.

He would argue what kind of university would take a homeless twenty year old with track scars up her arms?

What man would want the gaunt shell of a woman that she had become?

Jean loved Thom like a brother, and always allowed him to convince her to return to his fold of addict brethren, though she was increasingly becoming more and more discontent.

One morning found Jean rather clean, sober, and fairly alert. She had managed to avoid Thom and his friends for the most part, and it had been more than a week since she'd been on anything. Their using was so spread out that she had come down off of the worst of her withdrawal symptoms, and was able to enjoy her life for the first time in a long while.

She was curled up on a couch with a periodical she had swiped from a newsstand, and was rather absorbed in reading when Thom came barreling into their flat, accompanied by an attractive man.

Jean raised an eyebrow as they stumbled through the living room, pausing in the kitchen long enough for Thom to locate his secret stash inside the lining of the oven.

Thank gods they never baked.

"Jeeeean," Thom whined as he located a spoon, a lighter, and a clean syringe.

Jean glanced at him for a moment, then returned to reading an article that had piqued her interest.

"Jean!" Thom repeated more insistently.

Jean looked up, scowling.

"What, Thom?"

"Come play with us."

"No."

"Please? You don't even have to shoot up, I swear. Anton here wants a little more company than just little old me, and I promised him you'd be game," Thom whinged.

Jean growled. A feral sound as she snapped her magazine shut.

"What the fuck, Thom? I'm not having a threesome with some stranger!"

'Anton' had the nerve to look smug at her vehement opposition of the idea while Thom pouted.

"C'mon, Jean. You never have any fun! There's more to life than shooting up to see some old memories and dreaming of the day some nonexistent guy shows up to snatch the needle out of your hand!" He spat the words out, realizing his mistake a moment too late as Jean shot up off the couch, fury radiating off of her in waves.

"You listen to me, Thom Jenkins. We are through. I've stayed with you far too long. You force drugs on me, tell me no one wants me, and expect me to love you for it! But I can't do it anymore, Thom! I'm human, and I have emotions! Just because you jack yourself up to stay manic all the time doesn't mean that the rest of the world wants to do it with you!" She shouted.

Anton looped an arm around Thom's waist, smirking at her outburst.

"The lady doth protest too much, Thom. I believe we should take her down a peg, yeah?"

Thom had stopped listening after Jean's impassioned declaration of leaving him once and for all. They had had this argument before, and he was tired of hearing it.

He waved Anton off, shrugging out of the older man's embrace to go get a beer from the fridge.

Anton looked at Thom for a moment then back to Jean, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

He strode across the room, making a beeline towards the fuming twenty year old.

Without preamble he plucked her up off the floor, tucking her under one arm as easily as if she were a sack of grain.

"Put me down!" She screeched, beating on his back.

Anton smirked, keeping a firm hold on the squirming Jean as he walked back over to Thom.

"C'mon, Thom. The hard part is over. Now we can have a little fun."

Thom waved him off, sipping his beer dispassionately. "I don't care what you two do, just leave me out of it."

Jean stopped struggling as she heard Thom verbally hand her over to the likes of Anton.

"Thom," she called, her voice shaky. "What are you saying? Don't just let him manhandle me like this!"

Thom took another sip of his beer, turning his back on her.

Anton grinned, and though Jean couldn't see it she knew that he was excited at the prospect of having any kind of interaction with her.

"I swear to the gods if you touch me I will cripple you," she hissed, resuming her battery of Anton's back.

Unperturbed, Anton carried her to the nearest bedroom, shutting the door behind him with his free hand before depositing her onto the bed.

"Now then," Anton said, planting his hands on his hips in mock consideration. "Thom said you're a bit of a prude. Never bother to have any fun in your life."

Jean sat up, preparing to land a solid kick to his crotch if necessary.

"I don't see the appeal in whoring myself out to Thom's friends," she spat.

Anton made a clucking noise, advancing on her. "Well that just won't do," he murmured. "Everyone deserves a little fun in their life, y'know."

Jean scrambled backwards, bumping up against the headboard even as Anton continued towards her.

"No! Just leave me the hell alone and go have a shag with Thom or something!" She yelled, batting away his hands as they groped at her ankles.

Anton chuckled, shaking his head. "Not quite. Not when there's a warm body that'll put up a fight."

He grabbed her ankle and ignoring her kicking dragged her towards him, growling appreciatively as her shirt hiked up over a flat stomach.

"This won't be so bad," he soothed. "You just need to relax. It won't matter anyways."

He ran a hand up her thigh, dangerously close to _that word_, and something inside of her snapped.

"NO!" She screamed, and there was a loud CRACK.

Anton flew across the room and hit the wall with a resounding thud, dropping to the floor.

Thom flung open the door, his beer dangling in between his index and middle fingers as he surveyed the scene.

"What happened? Did you hurt him?"

Jean turned her head to look at Thom disbelievingly. "Are you asking if HE'S okay?"

Thom shrugged, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a long final swig.

Rolling off the bed, Jean snatched up her coat off the bed post, impatiently sliding her feet into her slip ons as she muttered under her breath.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Away."

"Away where?"

"Anywhere but here."

"You can't go."

"I am."

"He's never coming for you."

Jean paused in adjusting her shoes, staring at Thom with a cold intensity that left her feeling hollow.

"Even if he doesn't…I'm not doing this anymore. I can't handle you anymore, Thom."

Thom put a hand on her arm as she made to walk past him. "Don't do this, Jean. I'm sorry," he pleaded.

Jean eyed him, wrinkling her nose as she felt her resolve slipping despite her anger.

"You…you almost let him _rape_ me, Thom," she whispered, tears in her eyes.

The older man's face adopted a stricken expression as he registered the truth to Jean's words.

"I…I don't…just stay, okay? One more time, for posterity," he said with a weak grin.

Jean ran a hand through her uneven bangs, brow furrowed. Would it be worth it? Trying one more time to view her memories before shutting them away forever?

She felt the pull, the addictive song that the drug used to call out to its victims. She felt the need to go just one more time, to see one more memory. Perhaps it would be one of Severus? She wouldn't know until she did it.

Thom pulled her into a hug, knowing from her expression that he had won.

"It'll be alright, Retro…I'll let you go after this," he murmured.

Jean kept her face buried against his shoulder, relishing the rare moment. This was the Thom that she loved, the Thom that had guided her, taken care of her, and taught her that the world was not a nice place.

Letting his now empty bottle drop, Thom hugged her tightly, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her close.

"We've run the gauntlet, Retro…"

"I'm tired, Thom…I don't want to do this anymore," she muttered, her voice muffled from his shirt.

"Well then, let's go out with a bang, shall we?" He asked, taking a step back to examine her.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, tucking her hair behind her ears in a familiar gesture before letting her go.

He glanced over at Anton, wrinkling his nose. "He's a prat. I'm sorry for letting him in here. What'd you do to him, anyways?"

Jean frowned, hugging herself. "I'm…not sure. I think I kicked him?"

"You 'think'?"

"Yes. Maybe."

Thom let out a bark of a laugh, then pulled her out of the room, locking Anton in from the outside.

"We'll just leave him in there until we're done."

* * *

><p>She had never felt such a mixture of pain and bliss. On some level, she knew that there was something wrong with Thom's last batch.<p>

Yet everything about it was right. It afforded her a clarity that she had never achieved before.

As she spiralled downwards, she was able to sift through the memories she'd gained back. They were still nameless faces, but gone was the blurriness of uncertainty.

The first memory she grasped at featured a smiling duo, teenaged boys who she knew to be important to her. A boy with black hair, startlingly green eyes and glasses grinned at her as a red headed boy with freckles shoved him playfully, his blue eyes dancing with mirth.

She felt herself smiling, being cajoled into who knows what by the boys. They were important to her, even though she couldn't grasp their names. Their voices stood out in her mind, though. She would never forget those voices.

Her memoryscape shifted, and she slid into another memory. She was in a stone room, with torchlight causing the shadows to flicker at the edges of her vision.

A man in all black sat behind a desk across from her, his gaze stern, though his mouth was quirked up at the corners in a ghost of a smile.

His face was framed by lank dark hair, his dominating feature an aquiline nose that she thought was rather elegant. Dark brown, almost black eyes stared at her, amusement in them as she heard herself making a quip about something or another.

She associated a feeling of warmth with this man, but it was far different from what she felt for those boys, or even for the memories of her parents. The feeling was far more intimate, and she wanted to reach out and touch him, hold him, never let him go.

In her mind this man could only have one name. _Severus_.

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><p><em>Thank you for reading! Please review!<em>


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **I just updated my profile with the recent stats on IWFYID. 1,700+ visitors since this little foray into writing this fic began! I'm floored, honestly.

Having officially caught up with myself, the chapters may slow down on release dates. You all have been spoiled, you know. I've been posting every day since the 19th.

I've been getting a lot of reviews about how Thom is a bit 'sketch'. You all are very perceptive. Thom = stranger danger. Never let your children take candy from Thom. You never know what it might be laced with.

Anyways! I'm feeling a bit chatty, but that's irrelevant. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed or added IWFYID to your story alerts/favorites. It means a lot to me, and I hope you all stick with the story until the very end.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling graced us with the sandbox. I'm just making sandcastles with Dungeon Bats and Know-It-All princesses.

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><p>The familiar shrill shriek of the tracer spell sounded in Severus' study. From his spot in the kitchen, the sound was muted, but still audible.<p>

Wiping his hands on a dish towel, Severus moved to his study, finding the little bauble of a tracer spell indicator whirring and spinning in frantic circles on his desk.

Catching it, he held it up, surprised to find the indicator still going off at all. It had been a good two hours since Hermione's spike in magical energy had flared up, but the indicator was still registering the reading, giving an exact location.

_Maybe this will be it _he thought.

Gathering his cloak, Severus locked onto the point, Apparating as close as he could manage.

* * *

><p>Thom Jenkins' flat was nothing spectacular. The younger man had chosen a flat in the borough of Barking and Dagenham, and Severus truly hoped that Hermione wasn't staying with him.<p>

Letting himself in, Severus immediately noted that while in a seedier part of London, Jenkins' flat was tidy, though a bit dusty.

There was a decidedly stale air that permeated the atmosphere, and it seemed as though a layer of dust had settled upon everything uncovered.

A couple of used coffee mugs lined the kitchen sink, and the oven door had been left open.

Severus suspected that the young man had cleverly hidden a stash of something or another in the oven, and hadn't bothered to shut the door.

Walking through the living room, Severus noted that there were traces of a woman's touch in the apartment. Flowery pump action hand soap at the kitchen sink, a purple pea coat hanging up on a peg by the door, and a sensible pair of flats let Severus know that his fears were confirmed, and that Hermione was most likely living with Jenkins.

Moving further into the flat, Severus noted a dingy couch in the living room, a telly on a rickety stand that had seen far better days, and a frayed armchair. Sparse furnishings, but what could be expected? Jenkins' money went to other more 'important' things.

"I can't believe she allows herself to live in such squalor," he muttered as he continued through the apartment, wondering at who Hermione had become. Wondering if he even wanted to know the persona she had created upon fleeing the Wizarding world.

An almost inaudible moan drew him to the far wall of the room, where a large window was inlaid with a window seat.

Severus found her there, crumpled up in the corner of the window seat, her friend hanging halfway off the cushions with his arm trailing the threadbare carpet.

She twitched spasmodically, and if the state that that Thom fellow was in was any indication, their last batch wasn't as 'clean' as they might have hoped.

His heart hammering, he checked her pulse, finding her heartbeat thready and weak. Peeling her eyelid back, he found her pupils 'pinpointed', and frowned as he dimly registered the fact that it was a sign of opiate use.

Glancing down at Thom, Severus noticed the younger man had a bluish tint, and suspected an overdose, or a viciously laced batch of whatever they'd used.

Severus gathered her into his arms, closing his eyes against the onslaught of emotions barreling towards his Occlumency walls, threatening to overtake him.

He had no idea a heart could go through such torment. When Lily had turned her back on him, it had been heartbreak. This feeling was another thing entirely. He couldn't describe the ache, the longing. Hope, betrayal, and sorrow all coursed through him as he stared down at Hermione. His Hermione.

He had found her, but at what cost? Addicted to Muggle drugs, living with a lowlife who kept feeding her the vile shite. This wasn't his Hermione. No, this was Jean, a creature far removed from the smiling 18 year old he remembered.

He saw the track marks trailing up her arm, then proceeded to kiss every one of them before hugging her to his chest, burying his face in her hair.

In the back of his mind he registered that even after running around in the wild, after getting caught up with a sordid crowd of drug addicted vermin, Hermione's hair still smelled of that delightful orange shampoo he recalled her favoring.

The scent grounded him, stopped the despair from completely overtaking him. He wasn't about to let her die. If they were never meant to be together, so be it. Letting her slip away from him without so much as a goodbye was another thing entirely.

Tucking Hermione against his chest, Severus muttered a quick _Ennervate_ at Thom, scowling as the young man slowly came to.

Thom immediately clutched at his stomach, rolling off the window seat and retching until his body had been emptied of everything he'd eaten the past two days.

"Wha-?" He said groggily, running a trembling hand through his sandy hair as he managed to get a knee up and lean against the wall.

"Who're you?" He muttered, squinting up at Severus, who was still holding 'Jean'.

"Severus. You will do to remember the name. Here is what's going to happen, you idiot swine. I will be taking...Jean...to a rehabilitation facility. You will be, in all respects, dead to her. You will not contact her, you will not see her, you will not step foot near her ever again, lest you want to forfeit your life. Have I made myself clear?"

The boy nodded, the haze on his mind lifting marginally.

"You're that Severus fellow...she always said you'd come, mate."

Severus bristled, trying not to overanalyze the younger man's statement.

"After I've finished with Jean, I will return here, and we will discuss your 'future'."

Thom nodded, wiping the sick off the corner of his mouth with the back of one hand, peering up at Severus once more.

"Retro needs some stability. Take care of her. She's better than this," he said with a bitter smile as he gestured to the needles that littered the floor.

"She certainly is," Severus murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face as he frowned.

"How long?"

Thom looked away.

"Nearly a year and a half."

Severus' expression was stricken as he cradled Hermione close against him, rocking her.

"What has become of you, Miss Granger?" He whispered. "I can only hope you're not too far gone to make your way back up out of this hellish existence you've succumbed to."

Sending a nonverbal stunner at Thom, Severus held Hermione tight against his chest, waiting long enough to see Thom slump to the ground before he Apparated to the nearest muggle hospital he knew of.

* * *

><p>An orderly looked up at him in surprise, not necessarily used to seeing men in black cloaks carrying in young women who appeared to have overdosed.<p>

"I found this young woman at my...son's flat. I have reason to believe she is experiencing the adverse effects of a sordid batch of heroin. She has been suffering from tremors for the last bit, labored breathing, and her pupils are 'pinpointed'. Please see to it that she is settled into a room and treated properly," Severus said curtly as he gently deposited Hermione onto a nearby gurney, his heart aching as he let her go.

The orderly nodded mutely, moving forward to check Hermione's pulse.

"I will leave my billing information with the receptionist, though I expect the utmost discretion in this matter. This girl is not to know my name, or that I have footed the bill for her treatment. Have I made myself clear?"

The orderly nodded again, biting his lip. "Do you have any identification for her?"

Severus rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I assume it is on her person. The most I can tell you is that her name is Jean."

Turning from the orderly, Severus made his way to the receptionist's station. It took all of his willpower not to run back to Hermione, but he had to take care of other matters first.

A middle aged woman with dark brown hair and glasses was disinterestedly staring at her computer, pointedly ignoring Severus until he made a surreptitious cough.

"Can I help you, sir?" She mumbled, her words hard to make out around the wad of gum she was chewing.

Reminding himself that hexing Muggles was frowned upon, Severus handed the receptionist a slip of paper with his billing information, listing Spinner's End as the contact address.

"I just brought in a young woman who is currently being admitted. She was suffering from what I presume is a less than benign batch of heroin, possibly an overdose. I am fairly certain that she will not be able to afford her medical bill, so I would like to make arrangements to have the balance forwarded to my solicitor to be taken care of, with as little fuss as possible," he added warningly.

"Are you family? Husband, boyfriend?" The receptionist inquired, raising a speculative eyebrow.

"A concerned citizen, madam. I assure you, everything is in order to receive the young woman's bill. My only condition is that she not be made aware of my involvement."

The receptionist nodded, beginning the arduous task of data entry.

"If you say so, sir."

She rolled away from her desk for a moment, rifling through a filing cabinet until she found the desired forms.

Rolling back to the counter, she shoved the forms at Severus.

"Fill those out, sign the confidentiality waiver, and you're free as a birdie."

Severus nodded, making quick work of the forms. In a matter of minutes he handed them back to the startled receptionist, who skimmed them to make sure of their validity.

"Well, sir, everything's in order. We'll send you a statement once she's been processed and taken care of."

Severus gave a sharp nod before striding out of the hospital, Apparating with a half-turn as he slid into an alleyway.

* * *

><p>Thursdays were always the worst. They had been, since he had discovered that Hermione had been snatched out of his life by some unseen force. The memories were an oppressive weight on his soul, alcohol the only soothing balm to dull, but not erase, the pain.<p>

'Tea-time' Albus had called it. Where under the guise of potions research, Severus had begun to teach Hermione how to survive in a world where Dark Magic was very unkind to the unwary.

Leaning back in his armchair, Severus took another long swig out of a bottle of Firewhiskey, relishing the burning sensation in his throat and stomach.

Following ritual, his mind drifted to thoughts of their 'tea-times', innocent moments forever stolen by an evil despot and far too much bloodshed.

* * *

><p><em>While their initial meetings had begun on Mondays, they quickly found that Thursdays were much more advantageous. The token Gryffindor dunderheads attended Quidditch practice for the majority of Thursday evenings and they hadn't a care as to what Hermione got up to during that time. <em>

_Lessons were set to an alternating schedule. They would begin in Severus' dungeon office, and the following week would be spent in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. The third week of the month was spent in the Room of Requirement, and the final week of the month was completely randomized to prevent tracking. _

_This schedule was reversed for the next month, and the pattern continued undisturbed throughout the year. _

_Severus had to mask a smile with a scowl as a clock chimed seven. It was the fourth week of the rotation, and he had randomized the location of the lesson. _

_Through an advanced Arithmantic problem combined with a logic puzzle, Severus had given Hermione the clues to ascertain the location of the lesson. _

_He smirked as he considered the problem, knowing that even Vector would have a difficult time of it. In order to make it more interesting, Severus had given her the clue at the end of Defence class, leaving her mere hours to solve it and make her way to the lesson. She was not allowed to skip dinner, and her homework (for Defence, at least) had to be finished before she could begin to work on the problem. _

_Severus was of a fair mind that Hermione would not be joining him in the Astronomy Tower for their lesson, and he gleefully anticipated docking points for her inability to work within a time frame to find the means to an end. _

_His musings were cut short as he heard hurried footsteps racing up the stone flagstones, coming to a halt at the top just as the clock finished its seventh chime. _

_Hermione was breathing heavily as she stood in front of him, clutching a piece parchment in one hand, her wand in the other. _

_Severus scowled disdainfully, though he was secretly pleased that she was taking his teachings to heart. She had approached their meeting on her guard, with her wand out. He had taught her the painful way that not everyone was to be trusted._

_Physical conditioning had started at the beginning of the school year, and while the run up the Astronomy Tower had been taxing, it hadn't left her incapacitated. Her progress was heartening.  
><em>

_It surprised Severus that he found the Know-It-All's company rather pleasant, once he'd trained her to cease her inane chatter in lieu of more civilized conversation. He hadn't even noticed when he'd ceased referring to her as Granger in his mind. She had become Hermione. _

"_Five points from Gryffindor for not arriving within a timely manner," he sneered, gauging her reaction through a narrowed gaze. _

_Hermione showed no sign of having heard him other than a curt nod and a quiet "Yes, Professor."_

"_Miss Granger?" He drawled, bringing his hand up to examine his wand with a feigned interest. _

"_Yes, Professor Snape?" She replied tonelessly, though he could tell from her posture that she was coiled as tight as a spring and ready to snap._

"_Twenty points to Gryffindor for the successful completion of a Master level Arithmancy problem under duress."_

_She gaped at him for a moment, and he dropped his wand, brow furrowing. "Miss Granger, I would suggest you shut your mouth lest a doxy fly in and settle there for the winter," he spat. _

_Hermione nodded, composing herself before grinning at him. _

"_The problem certainly was difficult, sir. Especially with the parameters," she spat, giving him a mock glare. _

_Severus smirked in turn, idly wondering when they had ceased their strained relationship and had fallen into such easy and careless banter._

"_That was the intent, Miss Granger. In life and in battle, you may not always have the luxury of time. Incredibly difficult situations will be suffused with dangers and puzzles that will not afford you the time to sit down in the library and chew on your quill whilst you ponder life's meanings."_

_Hermione gave him an odd look, idly nibbling her lower lip. _

"_Stop gawking, Miss Granger. It's unbecoming."_

_She shrugged herself out of her reverie, giving him a smile that caused his heart to give a little leap in his chest. _

_What in the bloody hell was that? His mind screamed as they went through their warm-up ward casting. _

_The feeling thrust itself through his carefully erected Occlumency walls, niggling at the back of his mind as they went through the lesson. He hadn't been made this aware of another human being in some time. Not since Lily Evans, at least. _

_Their lesson concluded two hours later, leaving the pair to make their separate ways to his DADA classroom. For the next half hour they reviewed the lesson and argued brewing techniques over tea and chocolate digestives. _

_This was truly Severus' favorite part of their lessons. The point where their roles as student and teacher melted away, and they could converse as equals, as real people who could forget that their world was on the brink of war for just a few moments. _

_By the end of their time together, Severus had halfway managed to convince himself that his fluttering heart was a side effect of good conversation, and not from any sort of fondness for the girl. _

_Titillating conversation. Caffeinated tea. All viable explanations for why his heart would not stop skipping beats. That had to be it._

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><p><em>Thank you for reading! Please review!<br>_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** So! Sorry, guys. I totally spent the day sleeping and moping. But never fear! Chapter ten has halfway written itself (while I was off doing random things, like grocery shopping and drawing SS/HG fanart), and has somehow made its way to the internet.

You all have been blowing up my inbox with your reviews/subscriber alerts. I'm the spoiled one now. I don't know what to do when my inbox is empty ;A;  
>If I don't reply to your reviews, I'm sorry. Know that I appreciate every single one, and that I try to reply when I can. You guys rock for taking the time to let me know what you think of IWFYID!<p>

I promise, Severus and Hermione will find each other again. You know, eventually.

ANYWAYS.

Thanks for being awesome readers. It's late and I'm rambling.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling graced us with the sandbox, I'm just making sandcastles with Dungeon Bats and Know-It-All princesses. (Disney doesn't belong to me either. Drat.)

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><p>It took Jean three days to wake up from the bad batch of heroin. It took her another four to be lucid enough for the doctors to inform her that Thom was dead.<p>

Her grief hit her like a brick, effectively knocking the wind out of her and bringing her to her knees.

Thom was dead.

In a way, she knew it was her fault. He might not have used that day had she not threatened to leave. He might have used at some other time, without her, and she would have been able to save him. It didn't matter.

Thom was dead.

Her grief was crippling. She couldn't bring herself to care about anything or anyone else, extending her stay in the hospital another two weeks.

She became unresponsive, not eating, not sleeping. She was just _there_.

She was kept on sedatives, and a psychiatrist came and prescribed several medications that kept her on an even keel emotionally and worked to prevent the panic attacks she was now prone to.

Thom was dead.

She took the pills, or they were forced down her throat. In time she began to respond to treatment as she came to terms with her grief. Thom. Was. Dead.

Her best friend, her brother, her mentor. The man who had looked after her, taken care of her, made sure she always had a roof over her head, a warm place to sleep. The man who had introduced her to life, made brand new memories to replace the ones she had lost.

He was dead.

She was told that Anton had apparently broken out of her bedroom and found Thom on the floor, unresponsive. While not a particularly ethical man, Anton reported Thom's overdose to the authorities in order to save his own skin, and a ME had claimed him dead later that evening.

In between the overdose and Anton's discovering Thom, Jean had mysteriously been brought to the hospital.

None of the doctors would tell her who had brought her, though a loose lipped orderly let it slip that it was apparently Thom's father who had found her and physically carried her to the hospital, apparently deeming Thom unworthy of medical attention.

Jean had railed against her doctors when she had found out. She demanded to know who the man was so she could go and give him a piece of her mind, scream at him for letting his son and her best friend die. She wanted to beat on him, kick him while he was down, and let him know just how much his son meant to her.

Instead she could only grieve and continue living. While she wanted very desperately to wallow in self pity, she was forced to remember the lessons that Thom had taught her.

"_Don't __live__ in__ the __past,__Retro. __Hakuna__ Matata __and __all __that __jazz. __Dwelling__ doesn't__ do __a __damned__ bit __of __good__ unless __you're__ actually __going __to __do __something __about __it."_

So instead of wallowing in self pity and despair, Jean decided to do something about it.

Having spent over a year with Thom, Jean had picked up several useful skills, infiltration being one of them. She knew that Thom's 'father' had footed the bill for her treatment, even leaving instructions for her rehabilitation program to be paid for.

A nighttime foray into the filing cabinets at the nurse's station, and Jean's dilemma was solved. There was no name, but she had an address.

She would have to bide her time until she was able to go and confront the man. Criminal charges were just that; she would have to show proper documentation as to the progress of her rehabilitation before she would be allowed to terrorize society again.

Once that day came, she would travel to Cokeworth and find Spinner's End, where her mysterious benefactor was said to live.

As she left the hospital in an escort to her rehab program, her mind was focused on two things: Severus and finding Thom's father.

* * *

><p>"Hi...my name is Jean, and I'm a heroin addict."<p>

"Hi, Jean," half a dozen voices chorused, the owners' expressions ranging from pity to disinterest.

Jean remained at the podium, trying to override her feelings of shame as she struggled to find the rest of the words for her introduction.

Seeing her plight, the rehab counselor smiled knowingly, and prompted her next answer.

"Jean, how long did you use?"

Jean couldn't meet the group's eyes, instead examining her finger nails as if with great interest.

"A year and a half...the last hit I took was laced, and I almost overdosed. My brother died from it, and I was in the hospital for over a week..."

And there it was. The weight on her shoulders, the essence of the guilt she carried with her at all times. Thom was dead.

Deciding she'd been up there long enough, she stepped down from the raised dais and took her seat, zoning out as the next member of the group stepped up to drone out their name and story.

She was two weeks into her rehab program, which promised to be at least a three month stint, if she did well. Thom's 'father' had pledged to pay for her rehab as long as it took. She was tempted to stay there as long as she could in an attempt to bleed the man dry, but she wouldn't last that long. Two weeks had already nearly done her in.

Already the counsellors tended to prattle on, and she hadn't made them privy to her memory loss just yet. They figured her addiction stemmed from childhood abuse, or not watching enough Disney movies in her youth.

She was loathe to tell them that as far as she was concerned, she had no childhood. Her trip-induced memory expeditions had produced a few fuzzy memories: a birthday party, going shopping in a weird district of London that she hadn't been able to find again, a cat so ugly that she considered him handsome. No one could tell her she hadn't had a pet. Even if he had no name.

It was in her third week that she received two letters, something unprecedented since she was of a mind that if she didn't know anyone, there would be no one sending her letters.

The first was from a solicitor that had handled Thom's will. It seemed that at some point Thom had written her into his will. He had inherited a small fortune somewhere along the road, and it explained how he had managed to always find them a place to live, despite the fact that they were both jobless.

He had bequeathed everything he owned to her, as well as all the assets in his bank accounts. Even if his father hadn't vowed to take care of her bill, she now had more than enough money to defray the costs and still find a place to live once she had finished her program.

The second was from someone who only signed their name as S.S., with no return address.

Opening the letter, she stared at the sloping script for a long while, her brow furrowing as she realized that it seemed achingly familiar.

_Dear Jean, _

_I hope this missive finds you well and in good health. I am well aware that you have hit a rough patch as of late, though I find myself incredibly disappointed at the source of your troubles. _

_It has come to my attention that you have been placed in a rehabilitation program, and I have taken it upon myself to be your 'letter buddy' as those insipid counselors call it. If you ever refer to me as your 'letter buddy', I shall never write to you again. _

_You have been warned. _

_In any case, you may consider me your confidant for the next three months. While I will admit that I have a personal stake in your happiness, rest assured that I will remain nothing but objective in my readings and my replies. _

_I am here to listen, and provide a somewhat sympathetic ear to your plight. I recognize that your current situation is not ideal, but it is my aim to alleviate some of your burden, and provide an outlet for your energies other than drug abuse. If you would kindly leave your reply with Nurse Helena, she will make sure that our missives are delivered to one another in a timely manner. _

_Do not be lax in your communications. They are quite literally a condition of your impending freedom, and you would do well to remember that. This is non-negotiable. _

_Yours truly, _

_S.S._

Jean raised an eyebrow as she set the letter down. She'd be damned if she wrote back to him with more frequency than she deemed necessary. Yet again...

Picking up the letter, she clutched it to her chest, flopping back on her bed. This S.S. was actually _interested_ in her wellbeing. She didn't know them, but they knew her. Perhaps there was a chance that they could tell her who she was, or who she had been.

An overly cheerful voice came in over the intercom to her room, merrily announcing, "Attention: All wandering souls of the addiction group are to report to the cafeteria for therapy. We look forward to seeing _everyone_ there!"

As the voice signed off Jean groaned, covering her face with the letter, breathing in the scent of paper and dried ink.

She was already composing her reply to the mysterious S.S. as she trudged off to the first of many tortures in store for her at the program.

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><p><em>Thank you reading! Please review!<em>


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Wow. So, this chapter forced its way out, and I'm sure glad it did. I struggled, for some reason. Riddled with guilt from not posting on schedule, I am making this a happy Tuesday for everyone and posting twice.

Reading through my past chapters, I'm realizing far too late that they're a formatting nightmare. This is why we have betas! -hint hint- (As in, I need a beta.) I'm going to be going back and fixing that to the best of my ability.

IWFYID is trucking right on along, and things are truly picking up. Only a little bit more and the happy reunion will commence! Maybe. Keep reading if you want to find out :3 Thanks for adding IWFYID to all your story alerts and leaving reviews! You guys rock.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling graced us with the sandbox. I'm merely making sandcastles with Dungeon Bats and Know-It-All princesses.

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><p>Severus chuckled as he read Hermione's latest missive. They had been corresponding for several weeks, and despite her avoidance of mentioning all things wizarding, she remained witty, if not a bit cynical.<p>

_Dearest S.S. , _

_Being a Wandering Soul has its merits. The devout are given the privilege of freedom to walk outside, breath real air, and occasionally wear clothing that isn't drab and androgynous. _

_The Wandering Soul Club now sports a t-shirt in a shade of teal (one of my favourite colours) with the words WSC emblazoned across the chest. I'm glad my benefactor's money is going to something useful. I do love wearing a shirt that's not a drab shade of grey. _

_The Special Friends Club had the unfortunate fates of puce. _

_Puce, S.S. Imagine it. Cringe. Rinse and repeat. _

_I imagine that the head counselor for the SPC has a military complex. I believe I've chosen the proper avenue of allegiance in this horrid place. All the SPC does is drills and write lines. Masochists. The lot of them. _

'_I will not use. I will not abuse. I will not wear any other colour than puce'_

_I am proud to be a Wandering Soul. _

_S.S. , I'm close. I want to be out of here so badly. I want to visit Thom's grave, and to start my life again. Perhaps we could go for tea, talk about things other than rehabilitation religion. I'd like to know who has kept me sane for the past two and a half months._

_Thank you for taking the time to write to me, S.S. You have no idea what it means to have someone care. _

_Love, _

_Jean_

Severus set the letter down, stroking his chin in thought. Lying to Hermione didn't sit quite right with him, but she had needed a shock to her system to get her back on the right track.

From her letters, she truly sounded as though she were getting better, though it still puzzled him as to why she continued signing her name as Jean, since it was fairly obvious that it was he who was writing to her.

_He_ thought it seemed obvious, at least.

Leaning back in his chair, Severus sighed, running a hand through his hair. Exchanging letters with Hermione had been a soothing balm to his soul; it had been a long, arduous two years. Knowing that his beloved Hermione was alive was heartening, and he had faith that she would find her way back to him.

Yet there was still the matter of an alarming trend he had noticed in her letters. She was still hung up over Thom Jenkins. He had known that his 'death' would act as a shock to her system, but he hadn't imagined that she could be so attached to such vermin. He could write it off as Gryffindor foolishness, given that she had stuck by the dunderheads for seven years, though something still did not sit right with her relationship with the former drug addict.

He couldn't fathom why she would have stayed in such a situation for so long, or why she had allowed Thom Jenkins to continue manipulating her.

Pouring himself a generous tumbler full of Firewhiskey, Severus settled into his chair, thinking back to the day he had discovered Hermione.

* * *

><p><em>Severus had returned to Thom Jenkins' flat after seeing to it that Hermione was taken care of. He found that the younger man had recovered himself enough to crawl to the couch and sprawl out, a hand flung over his eyes and a leg thrown trailing the floor.<em>

_Severus nudged the boy none too gently with his boot, crossing his arms as he waited for Thom to come to. Thom moved his arm with a groan as he stared bleary-eyed up at Severus. _

_"Why're yeh not with her?" He slurred. _

_Severus wrinkled his nose in disgust as he realized that the younger man had gotten drunk after somewhat recovering from his ordeal. _

_"You're drunk," he stated, rifling in his robes for a Sober Up potion. _

_"Am not," Thom argued, though they both knew it to be true. "Mm just...shleepeh..."_

_Severus uncapped the phial he had found and forced the younger man's mouth open, unceremoniously tipping the potion down his throat. It took a few minutes to work, but once it had Thom was alert and sitting up, though he seemed a bit queasy. _

_Good. _

_Severus had had an elaborate lecture planned out; one that would have set first and seventh years alike quivering in their boots. Yet it all flew out the window as he found a voice for the thought that had placed itself at the forefront of his mind. _

_"What was the nature of your relationship with Hermione?"_

_Thom gave him an odd look as he ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair. _

_"She goes by Jean," he murmured, examining Severus with a raised eyebrow. "We met two years ago. She's like a little sister to me. I would never do anything untoward," he added, shooting Severus a dirty look._

_Severus rounded on the younger man, every bit the intimidating professor he had once been. _

_"Untoward? Set aside all sexual implications and examine your answer, Thom Jenkins. You were plying her with opiates!"_

_Thom had the grace to look guilty, but held Severus' gaze. _

_"I couldn't let her go. We were both lonely, and we needed each other."_

_Severus growled, pivoting so his back was to Thom once more. _

_"She has friends, Mr. Jenkins. She did not need the likes of you."_

_Thom was affronted, and Severus could hear it in his tone. "Oh really? Where were her friends when she was alone and terrified of the world? Who held her during the night as she cried through her nightmares, saying _your _name over and over? I didn't see you there, mate. I was the one who held her, and took away the pain. Just because you don't agree with my methods doesn't mean you have any right to criticize," he spat._

_Severus had half a mind to blast the boy into oblivion, but thought better of it. _

"_I won't let you near her again," Severus pledged, his voice low and full of promise. _

_Thom nodded, looking away. "I told her this was our last time. I know she was addicted to the thrill. She told me once that it made her feel real, like she had an actual life somewhere."_

_Severus clenched his fists, his patience waning. "She does have an actual life. One with me, with friends that wouldn't have allowed her to sink so low." He didn't know if his words rang true, but they sounded damned appealing to him._

"_She was headed this way anyways, Severus. It was only a matter of time," Thom murmured. "She's the only person to have ever given a damn about me. Even if it meant keeping her on a constant trip, I couldn't just let her go."_

"_You're letting her go now, or you will regret it."_

"_I know."_

"_You will never go near her again. You will forget that you ever knew her. She will be nothing but a vague recollection to you."_

_Thom's brow furrowed. "I don't think it's as easy as that."_

_Severus drew his wand, a cold sneer spreading across his features. "Oh, but it is."_

* * *

><p>And so Thom Jenkins had 'died'.<p>

In his perusal of Thom's memories, Severus had found out about the young man in Hermione's room, and learned of the attempted rape.

A rather nasty hex ensured that Anton would not be going near another man or woman for the rest of his days.

Anton's memories were altered, and Severus had remained to make sure that the death of Thom Jenkins was reported by the proper authorities. With the clever use of select potions, Thom had been for all intents and purposes dead to the world.

While Severus had longed to just let the young man die, he owed it to him that he had kept Hermione afloat for so long. If Thom had left Hermione to her own devices, she would have ended up dead in a ditch long before. Instead of offing the berk, Severus had employed a memory charm to rival that of the most talented of Aurors. Thom Jenkins became Sam Caldwell, a destitute young man with a drug problem who had taken a bad hit and lost everything he owned.

He left 'Sam' to wander the streets of London, not caring what happened to the younger man at that point. Hermione was safe in the hospital, with no chance of finding Thom ever again. That was what counted.

There was also the matter of Thom's will. The young man had been an heir apparent to a dead baron, and he had a small fortune to his name. Some six months prior Thom had put Hermione as his sole inheritor, and upon his death all his assets and property would be transferred to the twenty year old's name.

Severus hadn't perused the will any farther, and had left it to his solicitor to take care of.

Tipping his head back, Severus sipped the Firewhiskey, reveling in the burn. Things were coming together, piece by piece.

Soon enough, Hermione would be his once more, whole and healthy. Then they could continue on with their lives, Hermione could shed the 'Jean' persona, and all would be well.

Or so he hoped.

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><p><em>Thank you for reading! Please review!<em>


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **10,000+ hits to this story! Oh my goodness! Well, there are only like, 2,600 actual visitors, which isn't as impressive as 10,000...BUT STILL.

You all have been spot on with your reviews. As tempted as I am to answer each and every one and spoil the plot, I prefer to let you all find out for yourselves. It's not like I don't update enough to keep you all sated.

In fact, here's happy little 8 AM post for all of you rocking an Eastern time zone in the US. No matter what time zone you're in, or where you're reading from, Happy Morning. I posted xD

I am finally ahead again, feeling pretty cool and fly. Hipster Roo, yo. (I am not a hipster, for the record. So far from it it's laughable. Just an FYI.)

Thank you, lovely readers, for the reviews you've given, the support you've showed, and the various conspiracy theories you've thrown out. I love you all. And to those of you who don't review, but have added IWFYID to your story alerts, props to you too!

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling has graced us with the sandbox. I'm merely making sandcastles with Dungeon Bats and Know-It-All princesses. (P.S. I don't make money from this.)

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><p>Jean stared at her letter, nibbling her lower lip in concentration. The paper was still blank, and she had yet to press pen to paper.<p>

Damn it, Jane was annoying.

"So, we were writing in group, y'know, like we always do, when Tammy said..."

The voice droned on, and Jean couldn't take it anymore. Her 'Special Friend' hadn't stopped chattering since they had become roommates not one week before. Not paying any attention to the nattering older woman, Jean had no idea what she was in for, only that she was annoying. Very annoying.

She bent over her letter, pen scribbling furiously on the paper.

_Dearest S.S., _

_I'm going to kill her. I will hide the body. I will not get caught. Help me, please. I have __one week__ left. I can't do this._

_Love, _

_Jean_

* * *

><p>Two weeks later found her writing another letter to S.S. Her head ached, and was fairly sure that her shoulder was dislocated. She'd been locked in her room without dinner, and Jane had been summarily relocated to another room in the adjoining hospital for observation.<p>

Thankfully her good arm was uninjured, save for a bit of bruising on her knuckles, and she was able to scrawl out another letter to S.S.

_Dear S.S., _

_I warned you. I'll be in here for at least another month. _

_I decked her, possibly fractured her jaw, and let her know that in no uncertain terms was she to use the word 'Severus' in any kind of context outside of her own mind. _

_I feel sorry for Thom's father. He shouldn't have to pay for my mistakes. But I just couldn't help it!_

_She was so horrid!_

_Hopefully I'll find myself with a better roommate next time. Or perhaps no roommate at all. The words 'isolation' and 'different program' were bandied about. I'm quite clean, and wasn't under the influence of anything suspect. I just couldn't take her inane prattling any longer._

_Gods, I'm hungry. I think it was Chicken Patty Tuesday, which seems to be a universal occurrence in all institutions. Perhaps it's better that I wasn't given dinner. _

_Since I've reached the point where I would normally be released, but am being held for 'unprecedented violence', I could be signed out by someone willing to vouch for me. I so wish you would be that person. But I have long since learned not to hope._

_I look forward to hearing from you soon. I do miss your witty inferences. They far outshine Jane's chatter. _

_Love, _

_Jean_

* * *

><p><em>S.S., <em>

_This isn't funny anymore. You cannot just string me along for three months then cut off all communication entirely. It's just not done. _

_I realize that my acts of violence towards Jane were incredibly childish and uncalled for, but that should not have warranted your silence. _

_She's fine, honest. _

_Please don't ignore me. I can't stand the thought of being so incredibly alone again. _

_Please. _

_-Jean_

* * *

><p><em>S.S, <em>

_You know what? Fine. We shan't discuss this anymore. I won't send you any more letters. I won't fool myself into thinking that you ever cared about me. _

_I won't pretend that you ever gave a damn about me. _

_My name is Jean Lillian Russell. I have no memory of my life other than waking up screaming on a London street and being shoved into a mental institution. After that, I became a heroin addict, nearly overdosed, and found myself in a rehabilitation program where I decked another patient for smearing the one name that I can remember. _

_Do you know a Severus, S.S.? I sure as hell wish I did. Perhaps Thom was right, and he doesn't exist. But I've seen him, in my memories. I've seen flashes of his face, the way he used to look at me. I know I loved him, that he may have loved me. _

_Am I destined to live the rest of my life not knowing? Not able to making anything more than new, painful memories for myself?_

_You're a cruel man, S.S. You strung me along, comforting me with words of sympathy and encouragement. You have no idea what your words did to me. What your silence is doing to me. _

_This must be it, then. _

_Bugger off, S.S. _

_I'm getting out tomorrow on good behaviour, and I'll be free to take Thom's money and live in a flat somewhere far away from this gods awful place. _

_Thank you for being my confidant for as long as it was convenient to you, S.S. _

_-Jean_

* * *

><p>Jean had given her last letter to S.S. to Nurse Helena to be delivered before she left the rehab program, freedom an odd taste on her tongue.<p>

Or perhaps that was the exhaust-ridden London air. That could have easily been it.

She made her way back to her and Thom's flat – no, _her _flat, finding it dusty and just the way she'd left it.

There were still dirty dishes on the counter, her coat hanging by the door. Her bedroom door had apparently been broken and not repaired, supposedly from when Anton had gotten out.

Sinking onto the couch, Jean ran a hand over the cushions, nails scraping the coarse fabric. Why had they even wanted that couch?

"_It has character, Retro. Like us. We're broken people. Why not have a broken, ugly couch to match?"_

She smiled sadly at the memory, not bothering to wipe at her eyes as tears gathered. She could embrace her grief now, and found that it was a lone comfort. She would relish her memories of Thom, remember the lessons he taught her, and use the money he had left her to start a new life.

One without drugs, alcohol, or any other addictions. She truly had a clean slate this time, and seeing as she was truly alone in the world at this point, there was no one to stop her.

Lurching up off the couch, Jean pointedly ignored the window seat as she moved to her room, gingerly avoiding the broken door as she found everything as she had last seen it. Her room was immaculate because Thom had been a stickler for cleanliness, despite the nature of his many addictions.

She had a small stash of books that she had nicked from several bookstores stashed under her bed, which she pulled out as she groped under the frame in search of her duffel. Opening them, she breathed in the comforting scent of printed pages, taking a deep gulp of air before setting them aside.

Finally she found her bag, which was still packed in the event that she may have felt the need to leave in a hurry. It was a shame she hadn't left long before.

It took all of fifteen minutes to pack everything she owned into her duffel. Several pairs of knickers, half a dozen pairs of mixed socks (it had been over a year since any of her socks matched), several jumpers and plain shirts to go underneath, and the only three pairs of jeans she owned fit neatly into the bag, and she found that her books settled on top without much fuss.

Looking around the room, she realized that she hadn't put up any mementos. There was a small strip of pictures that she and Thom had taken when they were running around London high as kites, which was already tucked away in one of her books. There were no trinkets, nothing of any meaning to signify that she had become attached to the place.

The only shoes she had were either on her feet or waiting for her next to the door. The kitchenware had all belonged to Thom, and their fridge had been empty save for beer before she left.

Nothing but a bag of clothes to prove that she'd ever even lived there.

Sighing, Jean shrugged the duffel over her shoulder, a little depressed that it seemed so light. When one packs up their entire life, it was generally accepted that the literal bag would be a tad bit heavier.

"Well, nothing left in here," she muttered as she left her room, depositing her bag by the door. The water had been cut off, so she merely piled the dishes in the sink, leaning back against the counter.

Thom had paid the lease on the flat for a year, leaving another six months for her to find something to do with the place. She figured that keeping it as a sort of 'safe house' was better than nothing, and if her adventures in the real world never panned out, at least she would have her memories and a real bed to go back to.

Fingering the keys in her pocket, Jean pushed away from the counter and walked to the front door, taking a moment to strap her flats to the outside of the duffel, shrugging into her pea coat before picking the bag up.

She left the flat without a second glance, only looking back long enough to lock the door and engage the deadbolt.

Rolling her shoulders, Jean looked down either side of the street, finally opting to go to the nearest bus stop and begin her journey from there. Her second chance had come, and she wouldn't waste it.

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><p><em>Thank you for reading! Please review!<em>


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **I had to wait an entire day to post this. The suspense! (So instead of posting at a decent hour, I put this up at 1 AM. WAITING UNTIL A DECENT HOUR OF DECEMBER 1ST WAS TOO MUCH FOR ME, OKAY! )

You all make me so happy. Your interesting guesses through reviews, your suppositions, and your attempts to figure out what exactly is going on in Jean and Severus' heads is awesome to watch. I'm happy to reply to reviews that are asking questions, but please don't fret if I don't reply when you only say "Great story, update soon!" While you may not get a reply, know that I really appreciate all my reviews. Even if they're just a quick word, they give me confidence, and you all are rewarded by prolific posting throughout the week.

I know you all are going to verbally ream me for this chapter. But we're almost there! I know I've been saying that for like, five chapters, but seriously! Almost there :P

As always, thank you for being lovely readers and reviewing/adding IWFYID to your story alerts. You make this writer a happy little Roo.

Disclaimer: Props to J.K. Rowling for owning this when I don't.

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><p>Ignoring Hermione's letters hurt like hell. Her betrayal hurt worse.<p>

Severus had found himself incredibly incensed when he received Hermione's invoice from the solicitor not three weeks before her discharge. While he had specifically requested it all be handled elsewhere, his solicitor had apparently found it necessary to send him a receipt.

A fecking receipt, of all things.

That claimed he had footed the bill of one Jean Lillian Russell.  
>Jean. Lillian. Russell. Not Hermione Jean Granger. The girl had even had the audacity to use the name Lillian. She <em>knew<em> his past, knew his feelings for Lily Evans. Yet she had chosen that name.

He'd burned the receipt and immediately contacted his solicitor, demanding that all of Hermione's financial aid be withdrawn immediately. She would still have her funds from Thom, so he wasn't casting her completely out in the cold, but he'd be damned if he paid for any more of her lies.

After cutting off the money supply, Severus had cut off all communications with the chit. While she had continued to faithfully send him letters during the last two weeks of her stay, he had long stopped replying. Letters continued to come a month after her scheduled release, though he thought nothing of it.

Instead he cast her letters into the fireplace in drunken fits, setting them on fire with a twisted sense of glee. By destroying the evidence, there would be nothing to look back upon, nothing to physically link him to her any longer.

The locator spell he'd placed on her kept him apprised of her whereabouts at all times, and he found him unhealthily obsessive in keeping track of her. He found that she had settled in nearby Bethnal Green, occasionally making trips that flirted with the edges of Cokeworth, but he was usually in too much of a drunken stupor to notice.

One time the locator spell claimed that she was on Spinner's End, but he had cussed the spell, claiming that it was faulty, or that he was far too drunk to be able to interpret the results correctly.

For the most part, she remained in Bethnal Green, and it seemed that the erratic travels of her past had been forgotten.

* * *

><p>On a particularly bad day, Severus decided to pay a visit to Hermione. He argued with himself that it was far from stalking her, and instead that he had a vested interest in how she was faring. Given that she had ripped his heart out of his chest and all that. He was morbidly curious to see how she spent her Thursdays if she wasn't with him, having tea as she was supposed to.<p>

Setting out in Muggle clothing, Severus downed several Sober Up potions, only vaguely aware of how many it took to clear his alcohol fogged mind.

His charcoal grey sweater was comfortable, and it seemed to be a somewhat pleasant change from moping about in his frock coat and stifling robes. His trousers were the same that he always wore, and he would not make a concession on his dragonhide boots. He had spent far too long breaking them in not to wear them for fear a Muggle might examine them too closely. He scowled at the thought, burying his nose in his scarf, which effectively covered the scarring from Nagini's bite. It was sensitive to the cold, and he had no want of gawking Muggles as he checked up on Hermione.

Walking the streets, his wand strapped securely in his sweater sleeve, Severus made his way past Hermione's flat, not bothering to 'break in' and take a look around. While curious, he knew her schedule, and she had been away from her apartment for a good four hours already at this point. Waiting any longer and she might return, not giving him ample enough cover to merely observe.

Casting the locator spell rather discreetly, Severus continued walking, following it until he reached a quaint café nestled in between a bookshop and a salon right off the Queen Mary, University of London campus.

It honestly didn't surprise him that she would be near a bookstore, given her penchant for reading and insistent thirst for knowledge. He found himself more surprised that she was waitressing in the little café, bustling about in a pair of jeans, a polo in the shade of what could only be described as 'coffee bean', and a cream coloured apron. Her hair was swept back in a messy bun, the curls cascading over her neck.

Severus' breath caught in his throat as he watched her expertly waiting on tables, serving up coffee, and chatting amiably with her customers. She looked older; she was at least twenty one now, though he imagined that the slight lines in her face were from her less than pleasant experiences in recent years.

Gathering up his courage, Severus walked into the café, picking a booth in the back that afforded him a view of the entire restaurant. He knew it was foolish, and that it completely deviated from his original plan. But he had to know. He had to see for himself her reaction to him.

It wasn't long before the ever-attentive Hermione found her way to his table, smiling brightly as she whipped out her order pad.  
>"Welcome to Perry's Café, sir!" She announced cheerfully. He almost winced at the bright tone, but managed to keep his tone level.<p>

"Ah, yes..." He took the menu she proffered, discreetly keeping her in his sights as he pretending to peruse the café's meal choices.

She peered at him for a long moment, worrying her lower lip as she always did when she fretted. Tucking her pen behind her ear, Hermione gave him a sheepish smile, her brow drawn in good natured confusion.

"Sir, you seem awfully familiar...But I'm almost positive I haven't seen you in here before. Have I met you elsewhere?"

Severus' gaze shot up, rage and confusing coursing through him as he wondered how daft she possibly thought him to be. Instead of snapping at her, he allowed a cold smirk to come forth, his face an emotionless mask as he played her little game.

"No, madam, I don't believe we have."

She continued to examine him, and he felt heat suffusing through his body as her eyes roved over his face and torso, seemingly searching for some detail previously hidden.

Wringing her hands for a moment, Hermione plucked her pen from behind her ear, forcing a nervous smile. "Ah...o-okay...Well sir, what may I get you?"

Severus closed his menu without another glance, leaning against the cushioned back of the booth. He crossed his arms, an aggressive and haughty gesture if there ever was one.

"Coffee, black."

Hermione nodded, scribbling his order on her pad before shooting him an awkward smile. Gods, it was wonderful when she smiled at him like that.

"Yes, sir. It'll be right out."

Severus sighed as he gazed sightlessly around the café, his mind drifting to other days, other memories.

* * *

><p><em>The end of Hermione's sixth year was fast approaching, and her lessons with Severus had benefited her greatly. She was proficient in non-verbal casting, warding, shield charms, hexes, and even a few Dark spells that he had allowed her to dabble with. She provided a sufficient challenge to Severus when she was in top form, and he had no doubt that she would give any Death Eater a run for their galleons.<em>

_Along with her magical training, Severus had enforced a strict physical regimen, including Muggle fighting arts in her curriculum. He was confident that even without a wand, Hermione would prove to be a challenge for anyone who dared attempt to grab her and catch her off guard. _

_Severus had snatched Hermione away from her intensive N.E.W.T studies one Monday in mid April. He had been noticing that she was looking a tad ragged, and on a whim he had invited her for tea that evening, saying that he wanted to further examine her research as an excuse. _

_She met him in his office after dinner, and though she came prepared for a lesson, Severus waved her off, instead gesturing to a tea set. _

"_Fear not, Miss Granger. I'm not out to set you to train yet another day. I already know that you spend your every waking moment either studying or practicing in an empty classroom," he remarked dryly. _

_Hermione blushed as she sat down in the rickety chair across from his desk, squeaking when she found that it already had a cushioning charm applied to it. She looked up at him then, and he merely shrugged, feigning innocence. _

_Out of the corner of his eye he saw her regarding him with a small smile that set his heart pounding. He hadn't even had any tea yet, and they had done nothing more than exchange pleasantries. Damn. _

_An hour into their visit found Hermione perched on the corner of his desk, sipping yet another cup of tea as she watched him mark essays. They had settled into the routine many weeks before; he found that her presence was comforting as he was forced to correct some of the worst essays he had ever encountered. _

"_Ah, Professor," she murmured as she covered his hand with hers, stilling his vicious marking. "That student is quite correct. That is indeed a correct use of a bezoar, even though the reference is a bit off the wall." She proceeded to rattle off some textbook or another, and it took them both a long moment to realize that she was stroking the back of his hand with her thumb as she spoke. _

_Their gazes met, and Severus couldn't deny the heat there. _

'_She's your student!' His mind screamed.  
>'She's also an intellectual equal, and quite of age' another part of his mind argued, and eventually won out. Severus had privately been rooting on the logical part of his brain that argued in favour of accepting Hermione's simple gesture. <em>

_Dropping his quill, Severus turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through Hermione's.  
>"Are you implying, Miss Granger, that I do not know the uses of a bezoar?"<em>

_She was quite literally gaping at him in open mouthed shock, and he found it quite endearing, even as he repeated the now familiar line, "Miss Granger, do shut your mouth. How many discussions have we had about doxy inhabitance?"_

_Hermione shut her mouth then, a pretty blush spreading across her cheeks. Slowly, she withdrew her hand from his. She tossed the rest of her tea back like a shot then gave him a nervous shake of her head as she backed away. _

"_N-no, sir," she stammered. "I..I believe I should go grab a niffler from the library. Yes, that is what I'll do. Thank you for the tea, Professor," she babbled, stumbling out of his office in a rush. _

_He watched her go, his emotions barrelling at him in conflicting waves as he stared at the closed door to his office. Had he been too forward? Should he have just let her continue on with her innocent advances, never reciprocate, and pretend like he didn't harbour the same feelings towards the girl?_

_No, not girl. Hermione had developed into a lovely young woman, filling out the awkward angles of youth in all the right places. Hermione had become a woman when he wasn't looking, and he was paying the price for his inattention. _

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><p><em>Thank you for reading! Please review!<br>_


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **This chapter moves rather quickly, but it's setting things up. We are very nearly at the point where it all comes together, but that doesn't mean it's over! Thank you all for your great reviews.

This chapter is for **toriashley**, whose review left me giggling and more than happy to post at nearly 2 AM today. Because you all love waking up to an eyeful of IWFYID.

I feel like I'm missing something here, but I can't figure out what. In any case, PATIENCE my readers. Patience. Remember that this is an alternating Hermione/Severus chapter cycle, so your answers to Severus' motivations won't come about until tomorrow! I know you can wait!

Thanks again for reading, everyone.  
>Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns. I just doodle fanart and write fic about it.<p>

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><p>Jean found her latest regular to be a strange man indeed. The man was a decidedly dark addition to Perry's Café; his brooding kept many a-customer away from his corner, but Jean was more than happy to wait on him.<p>

There was something comforting in the man's presence. His flippant attitude and scathing commentary on the other patrons of the café was a welcome change to her rather dull life, and she often found herself dawdling in his corner, giving him unnecessary refills (never charging) and making small talk.

It didn't help matters that he looked an awful lot like the man from her memories. The man she had tacked the name Severus to without any room for argument. They shared the same pitch black hair, coal eyes, and the 'strong' nose; it was all too similar to be a mere coincidence.

Her nights were spent at home, curled up with a good book (legally obtained), usually daydreaming of scenarios where the strange man in the café really was Severus, and that he would come and save her from her wretched existence.

Rehab had kept her just long enough that she missed the transfer deadline to Queen Mary, the only uni she had been able to find that might accept her shambled credentials and give her a chance at a real life. Instead of continuing life as a vagabond under Thom's old influence, Jean gotten herself a job at Perry's and began saving up her own money so that she wouldn't be relying on Thom's forever.

She was eking out an existence on the fringe of society, her mystery patron keeping her sane on his Thursday visits even as she felt herself growing hopeless as time seemed to pass by in a crawl.

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><p>Jean found herself in Perry's on her day off. Thursday-Man, as she had dubbed him in her mind, had invited her to sit with him for tea as opposed to his regular order of coffee, and had picked an innocuous Monday in mid-December to do so.<p>

They were enjoying a sparse amount of conversation as they each perused their periodicals, their banter easy as they exchanged snippets of topics from their readings.

"What are your plans for your future?" Thursday-Man asked suddenly, not looking above his chemistry journal.

Jean flushed, wringing her hands on the table top as she set aside her literature was the one question she had hoped he wouldn't ask. Thursday-Man had struck a chord, and it seemed he knew it as he peered over his journal, an elegant eyebrow raised.

Smiling nervously, Jean tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her heart wrenching painfully at the memory of Thom doing exactly that before she could compose a reply.

"I've been less than...studious, in my schooling. I'm 21, as far as I know, and I should have gone to uni years ago. But I put it off, and instead gallivanted around the countryside pretending I was invincible."

Marking his page, Thursday-Man set down his journal, leaning forward. "Everyone makes mistakes. It's within the human genetic makeup to blunder at least half the time. What are your plans to rectify those mistakes?"

Jean was startled by his closeness, and how the faint scent of his cologne set her heart racing. Sandalwood, and something else decidedly masculine.

"I-I'm going to transfer into Queen Mary come January, and I'll be working on an accelerated bachelor's track in history," she replied self consciously, fiddling with the hem of her jacket.

Thursday-Man leaned back once more, and she realized she could breathe easier without him so close.  
>"History is a fine subject," he remarked, picking up his tea cup. He took a sip, and Jean was entranced by the way his lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he took some obvious enjoyment from his tea.<p>

"So...what do you do, when you're not here drinking coffee?" She teased, shielding her insecurities with humour.

"I teach," Thursday-Man replied, not offering any more information than that.

Jean's brow furrowed, and she chewed her lip in thought, causing Thursday-Man to adopt a look of such longing that made her heart hammer hard against her chest. She felt incredibly breathless, and the need to escape nearly overtook her. Their gazes locked, and they stared each other down for a long moment before Jean slid out of her booth, leaving a few coins on the table for her tea.

"It was lovely having tea with you," she murmured, not able to meet his gaze any longer. "I'll see you again soon."

She experienced a keen sense of loss as she fled the café.

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><p>Soon never came as Jean exchanged her shifts with another waitress. Thursday-Man, the nameless, all too familiar man who had invaded her senses and left her feeling raw with some unnamed emotion, was to be avoided.<p>

So she began working Mondays, and her friend took over the Thursday shift for her. It was through her new Monday shifts that she met John Aldean, a student at QMUL who was working on teacher certification. He spent his Mondays catching up on studying in Perry's, and was one of the nicest customers Jean had ever encountered.

They hit it off instantly, and while images of Thursday-Man were still seared into her memory, she was able to gently push him off to the side in lieu of John.

By mid-January, John had asked her, and it seemed as though things were falling into place. With John's help, she was able to perfect her application and get accepted into QMUL. It seemed as if things were finally looking up.

* * *

><p>Jean and John had gotten to chemistry early. It was a 9 o'clock lesson conducted on Mondays and Wednesdays, with a lab on Fridays. The syllabus had promised a rigorous course, but for some reason Jean hadn't felt intimidated.<p>

She had done remarkably well in her remedial courses at her live in program, and while waiting to transfer into QMUL, she had dabbled in a few online classes. Her grades were always at the top percentile, and she often led the class in terms of the highest grade. ;

Sitting at her desk, Jean felt oddly at peace. John was next to her, organizing his notes from his Elementary Education class. The calm that a classroom afforded her was like no other. She found herself wishing that she and Thom had instead pursued college careers as opposed to exploring the drug and alcohol spectrum with a fine toothed comb.

"I don't reckon we'll get to know who the professor is for the class until he gets here," John remarked, flipping through the syllabus he'd picked up from the registrar's office.

Jean glanced at it, noting that the only information to be gleaned from was that the professor held office hours in the history hall (where all unfortunate adjuncts were placed) every day from seven thirty to eight thirty and again from three to six.

"Hm. I suppose not." Other students were filing into the class then, grumbling about the hour and that they hated adjuncts.

She propped her chin on John's shoulder for a moment with an exasperated sigh, and was still in that position when the professor strode into the classroom, slamming the door with a deafening crash.

The entire class jumped, and Jean clutched at her chest, the shock almost sending her into a panic attack.

John rubbed her arm, kissing her forehead in an attempt to calm her down and get her breathing regular again. Jean leaned against him, grateful for his support as she took deep, calming breaths. Looking up to the front of the classroom, Jean stifled a gasp as she met the gaze of one Thursday-Man, who had changed his attire from coffee-casual to that of a seasoned professor.

Long gone was the sweater and scarf, replaced by a stiff white button up shirt overlaid by a very sharp charcoal tweed jacket. Though he didn't seem to be the type to wear tweed, he pulled it off very well. He hadn't changed his affinity for black trousers, and he still wore his strange boots, but they didn't detract from the outfit.

His lank hair had been pulled back in a low horsetail, revealing the severe planes of his face. His expression was not benign as he slammed his roll book down onto the podium, startling those who were just recovering from the door.

He held her gaze a moment longer then looked at the rest of the class, sneering in a manner that was reminiscent of Thursday-Man's opinions on prattling career housewives.

"If any of you expect an easy mark in this class, I shall suggest you get out of my classroom now."

Jean and John exchanged glances. The promise of a rigorous course had attracted both of them to the strange adjunct's class, and they had been looking forward to the challenge.

Not a single student got up, however. Each and every one of them was effectively glued to their seats with the promise of a severe punishment if they dared leave.

"My name is Professor Snape, and you will address me as such," Thursday-Man/Professor Snape spat as he prowled the front of the classroom.

"We will meet at the assigned times on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at nine o'clock sharp. I would highly suggest you arrive at least ten minutes before – any later than that and I shall lock the door and let every professor on campus know how much of a blithering idiot you are."

Stalking back to his podium, Professor Snape eyed them all with thinly veiled contempt.

"I am here to teach; I will not hold your hand, I will not allow you to prattle on in my presence, and above all you will not interrupt my lecture time. While I may not be able to assign detentions at this level in your education, rest assured that I can make it incredibly difficult for you to receive high marks in any of your other classes."

He regarded them all coldly, then turned to the blackboard, writing up the homework assignment in a loping scrawl that Jean found oddly familiar.

"I trust you have all read at least chapter one," he drawled, still writing on the blackboard.

At the whispered murmurs of dissent he turned around, an eyebrow raised.

"You are all adults by government standards. I would assume that you would treat this class with the same deference as you would a career, or any other task. You come prepared. I expect you to have chapters one through five read by Wednesday, and a report due on your reading at that time. If I feel you have not been as diligent in your readings as you will have led me to believe, you will be summarily excused from my class with no chance of readmission."

Jean stared up at Professor Snape in awe. In her other classes the professors seemed nice, but not nearly as strict and demanding as Professor Snape. They had outlined their expectations based on the syllabus, not offering any tidbits of personality or real expectations.

Professor Snape had effectively come in and laid down the law, and his word seemed final.

She felt a little odd, considering that she had the report on chapters one through five already typed and printed up, resting in a report folder in her messenger bag. John had teased her, claiming that she was a bit of a swot, and that her teachers would get aggravated with her. But to her, it only seemed natural that she be as prepared as possible.

In Professor Snape's case, her forethought paid off.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Oh my lovely, lovely readers. I am so sorry that you have waited this long for an update. I had fully intended to stick to my post per day schedule, but life happened! (And I became a proud mother of two baby guinea pigs!)

Finally, your chapter is here. It's the one you've all been waiting for. I'm still so very iffy about the future of IWFYID. I'm not going to drop it, but I am struggling with the plot/conclusion. Bear with me, and don't give up!

In other good news, I have a beta! *throws confetti*. **LDaemon** has so wonderfully volunteered to beta IWFYID. Her edits have already helped immensely, and her willingness to let me bounce ideas off of her gives me hope.

Hang in there, everyone. We're not done yet.

Disclaimer: See all the other fourteen chapters.

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><p>Sitting in his office at the university, Severus stared sightlessly at the report before him. Hermione - or 'Jean'- had promptly turned in the report that he had assigned for Wednesday as soon as the class was dismissed. Little swot.<p>

As he pondered her behaviour, something indefinable nagged at the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite place it.

Severus had begun to think something was amiss when Hermione had stopped working her Thursday shift. His worry escalated when his locator spell found her out of her apartment more and more, often during hours when Perry's was closed.

His moral compass pointing far from north, Severus had tailed Hermione several times to make sure she wasn't using again.

What he found was much worse: Hermione in the arms of another man.

Stricken, he had gone back to his home, gotten rip roaring drunk, and proceeded to smash and reassemble countless pieces of artifacts and decoration alike.

He had tried to take the high road. Give her a chance to come to him, and tell him on her own why she had disappeared from the wizarding world, left her friends and family behind, left him behind. But she hadn't come to him. She had always smiled at him in the way of an acquaintance, nothing more in her eyes than a pleasant curiosity to his well-being, as if she didn't know him.

As if she had never known him.

Yet he was positive that she knew him on some level. Thom had said as much; claiming that as Hermione had suffered through nightmares, she had cried out his name even in her sleep.

She knew him, so why wouldn't she quit playing this idiotic game? Why couldn't she just drop the farce and acknowledge him, acknowledge their past?

He considered it, and realized that she didn't even seem to be acknowledging her own past at all. If that were the case, then there was a chance that she wasn't tormenting him out of mere spite, and had instead landed herself in an entirely different realm of trouble.

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><p>"You know I'm not supposed to give you these," Helena Pomfrey stated as she drummed her fingers on the table they occupied at a coffee shop near Hermione's former rehabilitation clinic<p>

"You also weren't supposed to be my liaison in the first place, so it seems to be a moot point," Severus quipped.

Helena Pomfrey, the squib cousin of Poppy Pomfrey, had kept a close eye on Hermione during her time in rehab. She had kept Severus apprised of Hermione's mental well-being and gave him regular updates on her condition.

Severus had been able to sit back and allow Hermione to heal on her own and instead focus his energies on offering his love an avenue through writing as a means by which she might vent her frustrations.

Helena tapped the stack of letters in her palm, lost in thought. She had of course scanned each and every letter that Hermione had sent Severus, as a matter of documentation. That and she'd had the sneaking suspicion that the lovers' future would hit a rough patch and the letters would be needed.

"Helena, for Merlin's sake, just give me the letters," Severus snapped, his patience waning.

Helena rolled her eyes, and pursed her lips in a manner disturbingly like Poppy. "Rude young man, aren't you? Fine. Just remember that I'm of a mind to let you suffer since you burned the originals anyways."

Severus snatched the letters out of her hand, tucking them into his coat pocket.

His expression softened for a fraction of a second before his cold mask of indifference slipped back into place.

"Thank you, Helena. Enjoy the rest of your day," he said, inclining his head in her direction for a moment before pushing back his chair and leaving the café.

Finding the nearest alleyway, Severus Apparated to Spinner's End. Upon entering his home, he traded his coat for robes as soon as he had pulled the letters out of his pocket.

Lighting a fire in the grate, Severus settled down into his favourite armchair, pulling the Xeroxed letters towards him. He almost smiled as he read her descriptions about Jane, and he felt a certain sense of pride that she had knocked the older woman on her arse.

Yet his heart began to sink as he found her letters gradually becoming darker in substance as she believed that he had abandoned her, which he freely admitted he had.

_Please don't ignore me. I can't stand the thought of being so incredibly alone again._

He stared at the words, brow furrowed. Hadn't she sought out her own situation? Hadn't she willingly left her old life to pursue other ventures? He continued reading, comprehension as yet beyond him.

As he came to the final letter, he felt as if everything inside of him shattered. Gods, how wrong he had been.

_My name is Jean Lillian Russell. I have no memory of my life other than waking up screaming on a London street and being shoved into a mental institution._

Fucking hell, the clues had been there, he had just been too damned obstinate to pay attention. What had happened to instigate her memory loss? Why hadn't he noticed when he was skimming Thom's memory? His mind swam with questions, none of which had answers.

Reading the rest of the letter, Severus clenched the paper tightly in one hand, the fingers of his other digging into the armrest of his chair.

_Do you know a Severus, S.S.? I sure as hell wish I did. Perhaps Thom was right, and he doesn't exist. But I've seen him, in my memories. I've seen flashes of his face, the way he used to look at me. I know I loved him, that he may have loved me._

Bloody hell.

He had had it all wrong.

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><p><em>While Potter and Weasley were otherwise occupied with the Sword of Gryffindor, Severus found the Trio's tent. It took him a good bit of effort<em>_to work through the wards, and as he stepped through was caught off guard when Hermione threw herself at him. She held fistfuls of his cloak in a near death grip, burying her face against his neck, shaking with suppressed sobs._

_"Thank gods you're alive," she muttered, her voice muffled by the cloak._

_"This is dangerous for all parties involved, Miss Granger..." Severus warned, his dark eyes troubled as he stared down his nose at her._

_Hermione nodded, her grip tightening on Severus' robes as she pressed against him. Tilting her head back, she brushed her lips over his in a tentative kiss._

_"Hermione," she murmured as she pulled back._

_"Pardon?" Severus scoffed, holding her at arm's length, not sure of what had just transpired. He certainly remembered all of their clandestine meetings at Hogwarts, but this was new. She had never been the instigator._

_"Call me Hermione...please." She looked up as the low hum of conversation floated through the forest, gradually coming nearer. Turning to Severus, Hermione placed a hand over his heart, her feelings quite plain in her expression._

_"I know you're innocent, Professor..." At this, his expression hardened._

_Shaking her head, Hermione continued. "I know it as truth...so don't do anything foolish and get yourself killed before we have the chance to have tea again."_

_Quirking an eyebrow, Severus tilted his head, studying his former student for a long moment. He still had trouble pinpointing when she had become so damned important to him._

_"Severus."_

_It was Hermione's turn to appear startled, if not recently Confunded._

_"Sir?"_

_"Call me Severus," he murmured before brushing a lock of hair away from her face, his expression softening for a mere millisecond before he took a step back._

_"Someday soon, Hermione...this war will be over, and we'll find ourselves together. Just don't die before then. I'd hate to think I wasted an entire year's worth of Thursdays on you," he quipped._

_With a nod of his head, he Apparated with a small 'pop', leaving Hermione alone in the tent once more._

Roused from his reverie by an alarm spell he had cast, Severus found himself still in his armchair; stiff and burdened by this new knowledge.

He had taken the role of professor to get close to her, to see if there was a chance that there would be a gleam of recognition in her eyes when she looked at him. If she would actually acknowledge him and everything they had, could have.

Now Severus knew. Something had ravaged Hermione's memories, taking away her life, her past, and to some degree her future. He considered himself lucky that she remembered the name Severus, and the love associated with it.

Slowly getting to his feet, Severus rolled his shoulders; mind set. He would continue to teach her, continue to get close to her, and draw her away from the man she had turned to.

He would show her that he was her Severus, that he was S.S. He would show her that he had never given up.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! Please review!<em>


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Oh my goodness. Life kicked me in the pants. And then it kept kicking. But now I'm back! I feel so horrid for leaving IWFYID this long. But now I fully intend to carry it right on through. The drama continues!

Thank you to my beta, **LDaemon**. You're wonderful :3

Another big thank you to everyone who has left reviews/added IWFYID to their story alerts!

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><p>Professor Snape seemed to add several new dynamics to Jean's life. He offered a source of entertainment as he set upon berating her chemistry class for its stupidity and, subsequently, left her shaking with silent mirth after he left her classmates quivering in fear.<p>

John wasn't fond of him, but Professor Snape had quickly risen to the top of her books. Yet there was more to Professor Snape than his ascerbic humor.

He was quiet, predatory, lethal. He commanded his classroom with military precision and accepted nothing less than perfection.

Yet Jean often caught him staring at her with a quiet intensity that sent shivers up her spine, which weren't entirely unwelcome.

With Professor Snape's arrival came something more; a mixed sense of relief and unease kept her fidgety throughout his classes. His presence afforded her a sense of normalcy, one that she hadn't felt since her 'accident'. Professor Snape brought back memories that she had assumed hidden. Instead of finding clarity through a dangerous high, her dreams brought with them startlingly clear memories of her past.

A castle, full of wonderful oddities and familiarity. Classes with the boy with green eyes and black hair, and his redheaded sidekick. Days spent in dark dungeons, peering over bubbling cauldrons as Professor Snape hovered about the classroom.

She knew without a doubt that she had known Professor Snape before her accident, and that he had known her. She knew that they shared a connection. An intimate one. She puzzled over this and more as she sat in a study hall in the library with John. He was fidgeting, counting down the hours until Jean released him from study time to go home to his son.

Ignoring his grumbling, Jean got up and found the stacks containing the chemistry texts, not paying much attention as she reached for a reference book. Her hand brushed up against another, and she looked up, surprised to find Professor Snape staring at her with that quiet intensity she had come to expect, even relish.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Professor Snape," she said with a nervous, apologetic smile. "If you need that book, I'm sure I can find another one..."

Professor Snape kept his hand pressed against hers, and she vaguely realized that she hadn't dropped her hand yet. The contact was electric, and her nerve endings tingled erratically at his touch. He covered her hand with his, ghosting his thumb over her knuckles.

"I daresay, Miss Russell, you don't need any texts on this subject. Surely you've already completed the rest of this semester's material, have you not?"

Jean's blush was enough of an answer, and she hastily pulled her hand away from his in embarrassment.

"Well...yes...but I wanted to cross reference some resources for my final paper, you see..."

Professor Snape smirked, his dark eyes belying his amusement. "I'm well aware of your academic prowess, Miss Russell," he murmured in the silky baritone she recalled from her dreams.

Jean took a deep breath, and screwed her courage to the wall as she turned to Professor Snape.

"Professor Snape, I was wondering-"

"Jean!" called John from the end of the book stack, his backpack slung over his shoulder. "Come on! Leave the good professor and let's go!"

Jean looked back at Professor Snape, her brow furrowed and her expression reflecting her inner turmoil.

Professor Snape was glaring at John, loathing evident in his gaze.

"I wasn't aware Mr. Aldean had such a monopoly on your time, Miss Russell," Professor Snape sneered, turning his dark gaze on Jean, a shadow of hurt in his eyes.

Jean opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, John grabbed her arm and pulled her none too gently out of the book stacks.

"Let's get going! The babysitter can't wait forever, you know!"

Jean looked over her shoulder as John led her away, feeling bereft as she left the brooding professor behind.

* * *

><p>Little Harry Aldean ran circles around Jean as she set John's table for dinner. The toddler, two-years-old and incredibly rambunctious, had taken to Jean immediately, and she suspected that it played a large part in John's attraction to her.<p>

She spent most of her evenings playing with Harry while John worked on homework. She would fix the boys their dinner and give Harry a bath and tuck him in. John would pluck her out of his son's room afterwards and drag her to his room for a frenzied shag, after which he would then proceed to send her home and fall asleep before she had even left the house.

Things had become strained between them, though she wasn't sure if John even realized it. He was too absorbed in work, school, and his son to notice that she had been drawing away from him. She'd been so focused on winning the approval of all her professors, Snape in particular, that she had drawn away from her lover in favor of studying.

Leaving her musings partially behind, Jean plucked the toddler up, setting him in his high chair. Putting a simple meal of macaroni and cheese in front of him, she stepped away from the mess that was soon to follow.

John had simple tastes, and she found out early in their relationship that her culinary skills were as sharp as a dull knife. Macaroni and cheese with boiled hotdogs was the extent of her kitchen prowess, though she could argue that most of her mental faculties went to maintaining a keen intellect and not on cooking.

Harry giggled as he stuck his hands in his macaroni, plaintively ignoring his colorful spork in favor of flinging the pasta everywhere.

Jean rolled her eyes, then looked up as John came in from his office. He ruffled Harry's hair then looped an arm around Jean's waist, pulling her in for a sound kiss. She pressed against him, craving the contact, some sort of connection that the two of them could rekindle.

Instead of indulging her in a caress, or even a hug, John kissed her cheek then found his seat, pulling his own bowl of macaroni towards him. Turning away from her boyfriend, Jean moved to the sink. Her mind was a mixture of sluggish realization and startling clarity. The slower half of her mind realized that the whole scenario was sickeningly domestic. At twenty-one she was caring for a toddler that wasn't hers, fixing mediocre dinners, and it appeared that she would remain in the role as long as she stayed with John.

At the thought of leaving John, her mind instantly turned to Professor Snape. Severus, if her memories were to be trusted. She had shared something with him, caresses in the dark hallways of that castle, kisses stolen in the classroom, time spent with him just talking over tea.

A feeling of warmth spread throughout her chest, and she dimly realized that she hadn't ever felt that way about John. Taking a deep breath, she turned away from the counter and moved to the door, where her coat and keys were hanging. She unceremoniously shoved her feet into her slip-ons as she dragged her coat on, snatching her house keys off the hook.

John looked up from his newspaper and dinner with a puzzled gaze as he watched her hop around with one shoe half on.

"Jean? Where are you going? You haven't even eaten yet."

Jean gave him a halfhearted smile in apology as she managed to get her shoe on her foot.

"I have to run back to campus. I forgot some notes that I really need for the chemistry exam."

John huffed out a breath, his brow furrowing. "It's always about school with you, isn't it? You're well ahead in your classes, Jean. I don't understand your nearly obsessive need to be so well prepared all the damned time!"

Harry quieted at his father's tone, looking between the nice lady and his father.

Jean's gaze slid over to Harry; she knew better than to argue in front of the toddler.

"I have to go, John. Your lunch is already packed and in the fridge. I'll see you in class on Friday."

Without another word Jean left the house, striding purposefully to the bus stop. John drove to school and work, so she doubted he even knew which bus to take to the campus, let alone where the bus stop even was.

Mentally calculating how long she had until Professor Snape left campus, she decided that she would forgo dinner and a trip back to her flat, and would instead go straight to the campus. That would leave her with half an hour to pose her questions to Professor Snape about her past, and perhaps set up another time when they could discuss matters in more depth.

* * *

><p>As the clock ticked seven thirty, Jean dawdled just outside of Professor Snape's office. The rest of the history hall was dark, save for the light shining out of the chemistry adjunct's door.<p>

Rocking on the balls of her feet, Jean wrung her hands, her heart pounding an erratic rhythm in her chest. Was she doing the right thing in confronting him about her past? Would she get anywhere with the stoic and often cruel man?

What did she have to present to him? She had snatches of memory. That was all. Well, there were those looks of his...when he gazed at her as if she were the sole reason for his existence. The looks that gave her delightful shivers that left her feeling both aroused and guilty all at once.

Before she could gather up her courage, Professor Snape's silky baritone rang out through the empty halls.

"Enter, before my patience wanes further. I hate to waste more time than absolutely necessary on your 'problems'."

Jean knew that he didn't realize it was her standing outside his office. While he was fairly cruel to the rest of her classmates, John in particular, he remained reserved with her, mostly taking snide shots at her study habits.

Swallowing hard, Jean took a step forward, poking her head around the door frame.

Professor Snape was sitting behind his desk, leaned back in his chair with a pair of reading glasses on his nose, and his hair tied back. Dark eyes perused what she assumed to be a student's paper, or perhaps a chemistry journal.

He glanced up to see who had disturbed his peace, eyes widening a fraction in shock before he schooled his features.

"Miss Russell. You've chosen a rather late hour to come calling. Where is your compatriot?" he asked with disdain as he removed his glasses and set down the paper.

Jean rocked on the balls of her feet nervously, nearly bolting when he gestured for her to sit down.

"John is at home with his son," she bit out, before having the grace to look chagrined."I'm sorry for coming so late, Professor Snape...but I need to discuss something with you."

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he got up and shut his office door. She could feel a tingling sensation dance across the nape of her neck, causing the hair to stand on end as he sat down, crossing his arms. She shook it off, then brought her gaze to his.

"I'm listening."

She stared at him for a long while, neither of them speaking.

"Miss Russell, I don't have all night. I do have other things to attend to besides coddling a confused university student," he drawled.

"I," she began, before she abruptly changed her mind, deciding to take another turn with her thoughts. "I needed to ask you about the length of the final essay. Would you like four or five feet?"

Professor Snape gave her a strange look, and she replayed her last question in her mind, brow furrowing. "Pages...I meant pages. I know that the syllabus says 10, but do you have a maximum limit?"

The older man's brow rose, and a ghost of a smile played across his lips before he shook his head. "Miss Russell, I daresay that if you give me a thirty page essay on the properties of atoms, I shall be forced to take off of your grade. The maximum I will allow is fifteen pages. I don't wish to torture myself with your classmates' insipid essays," he drawled.

Jean smirked slightly, nodding as she stood to leave.

"Thank you, sir. That's all. I apologize for bothering you this late."

Her professor gave a noncommittal shrug, gesturing towards the door. "Indeed. Unfortunately, I'm contractually obligated to sit here until eight o'clock in any event."

"Have a good evening, Professor Snape. I will see you on Friday."

Professor Snape waved her off, his reading glasses already on, and his previous reading material back in hand.

Jean's prevailing thought as she walked out of his office was how handsome he looked when he was wearing glasses.

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><p><em>Thank you for reading! Please review!<em>


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Sorry for not updating sooner! Life just seems to keep getting in the way. I promise I'll make a better effort to keep updating regularly!

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with IWFYID. It's not over, by any means. I appreciate every single review and everyone who has added the story to their Story Alerts.

Another huge thank you to my beta, **LDaemon**, who is wonderful!

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><p>After her visit with Professor Snape, Jean was left to restlessly prowl her flat. She had walked home to burn off the excess energy that contact with the older man seemed to bring, and had proceeded to take herself to task and complete the next week's assignments before the adrenaline rush faded.<p>

Once she had snacked on a sandwich and taken her medications, Jean readied for bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow she was out like a light And theen she dreamed.

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><p><em>She was late for her lesson with Professor Snape. Oh Merlin, was she late. And it wasn't even a special arithmancy assignment or anything. She was just <em>late.

_In her own defense, she had been working on her wards, setting up some particularly nasty reaction hexes if someone tried to get into her dresser. Specifically the bottom drawer, which contained her personal knickknacks, as well as some assorted Muggle books. But most importantly guarded was her __journal.__ The journal that described her growing crush on one Severus Snape. _

_Her cheeks burned as she thought about her last entry. About how he had held her hand. _

_Her hand! She knew that touching students equated to the plague for him, so for him to reciprocate..._

_Merlin, she was in deep. _

_Skidding to a halt in front of the Room of Requirement, she restlessly paced in front of it three times, thinking "I want to be allowed in to see Professor Snape" repeatedly. As an aged wooden door appeared with a bronzed handle, she knew that Professor Snape had already asked the Room to set up very selective wards. Ones that she would have to break in order to gain entry. As she worked through the wards, she imagined Professor Snape casting them with sadistic glee. She knew that he had added extra layers, just to spite her tardiness. _

_I'm very, very late, she thought, nearly panicking as she impatiently moved from ward to ward, unraveling the complex tapestry of spellwork. She forced herself to remain calm and remember her training. "Keep a cool head in the face of danger," Professor Snape would say, in that decidedly sexy baritone of his..._

_Finally she heard the lock click as the door swung open. She cautiously moved inside, wand out, scanning the room for any signs of her professor. It was dark, and the only light came from torches in high brackets on the walls. The torchlight flickered as the door shut, and she was left in relative darkness, only dim orange light casting shadows on the room. _

_It had only been a few days since their 'encounter', and she was nervous enough about facing him again, let alone actually training with him. He tended to get a bit cruel when his feathers were ruffled or things didn't go his way._

_Instead of getting blasted with a hex, the torches brightened and seemed to multiply, a roaring fireplace appearing on one wall, with a plush sofa adjacent. Professor Snape was reclining on the sofa, reading a Potions journal while sipping tea. _

_She nearly dropped her wand in surprise, but remained on guard as she stepped further into the room. _

"_I recall myself saying that if you were ever tardy, our lessons would cease," he murmured, not looking up from his reading._

_Her stomach dropped, and a sense of panic nibbled at the edges of her mind, causing her heart to pound painfully against her chest. _

"_Professor, I-"_

"_Silence!" he snapped, finally setting down his journal and teacup. "I'm of a mind to hex you senseless right here, but I'm afraid Albus would frown upon one of his precious Gryffindors lying immobile in the Room of Requirement for too long a time."_

_Her gaze dropped to her trainers, her face reddening in shame. She had blown it. Ruined all chances of keeping Harry alive, of-_

"_Stop your moping, girl," he said, his tone gentling. "It just so happens that there is nothing more that I find pertinent to teach you."_

_She nearly had whiplash from how fast her head snapped up, her eyes wide and mouth open in shock._

"_Just WHAT have I told you," he began, before she shut her mouth and grinned brightly up at him. _

"_Doxies, sir. I know. Do you mean it, though? That you're not just tired of me?"_

_The professor's expression changed, rapidly morphing from surprise, to disbelief, disdain, and finally want. That was the only way she could describe it. His eyes had gotten darker, if that were at all possible, and his mouth was set in a firm line as his gaze let her know that he had not, in fact, gotten tired of her. _

_She dropped her head again, this time out of shyness. Tucking her chin against her chest, she shuffled in place. Her stomach was fluttering, and a feeling of warmth was spreading throughout her body, every nerve ending tingling pleasantly from the sensation. At that moment, she knew that she loved Severus Snape. She loved the brooding, stoic professor, with his sharp wit and even sharper tongue. _She loved spending time with him, sharing jokes and a certain sense of camaraderie._ She loved how his teeth were slightly crooked and how charming his rare smiles could be. She even loved his nose. _

_She blushed darkly at where her thoughts had taken her, glancing up at him through her lashes. _

"_I should probably leave then," she murmured. _

_Professor Snape scoffed, waving a hand. "No need. You're here, and I have essays that need grading. It's the least you can do, after being tardy to the lesson."_

_Their gazes met and she moved forward, smiling nervously. "Fourth year Hufflepuffs?"_

_Snape shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And third year Slytherins."_

_Stifling a giggle with her hand, she moved to the couch, rummaging in her bag for a quill as he summoned the essays. As they inked their quills and began to grade, the two of them settled into companionable silence. _

_Understandably, Professor Snape finished his grading first, watching her read over her essays with an amused smirk as she puzzled over the inane drabbling of a Hufflepuff. _

_She scooted closer to her professor, their thighs brushing as she held up a piece of parchment for his perusal. _

"_Can you even DO that with __a__conite?" she exclaimed, leaning over his lap as he took the essay. _

_He looked at the essay, but didn't seem to be taking in the words. Looking at him expectantly, she was surprised when he set it down and cupped her cheek with one hand, turning her head to face him. _

_Their gazes locked and feeling a surge of Gryffindor confidence, she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. She expected him to jerk away with a sharp reprimand, but was shocked when he merely threaded his fingers through her curls, tilting his head to gain better access. _

_I must be dreaming, her mind whispered over and over; Dreaming. There was no way that Professor Snape would be interested in _her, _n__o way that he would be touching her willingly, let alone _kissing_ her. _

_He quickly took control of the kiss, his tongue probing for access to her mouth. Complying, she moaned as he explored, stroking his tongue along hers. The sound __seemed to bring him back to reality, as he quickly broke the kiss, gently pushing her away. _

"_We cannot do this," he growled, surging up off the couch. _

_She felt a keen sense of disappointment and an empty ache in her chest at his absence from her side. She knew he was upset, most likely with himself at the turn of events in their interactions. Sighing heavily, she made the decision to leave him to his thoughts._

"_I...I need to go," she murmured, with every intent of going and pouring her heart out __into her journal as soon as she got back to her dormitory. _

_Professor Snape turned away from her, waving her off. "Out. There will be no more lessons for the remainder of the year. I expect to only see you in class or in the event of an emergency. Have I made myself clear?"_

_Nodding, she swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat, gathering her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. _

"_Of course, Professor Snape…T-thank you for all your help this year," she managed before scurrying towards the door. _

_She glanced over her shoulder and met her professor's gaze. Obsidian eyes glinted at her in the firelight, and she promised herself then and there that she wasn't giving up on Severus Snape, no matter how vehemently he protested. _

_Nodding at him one last time she slipped out the door, trotting off to Gryffindor Tower full of resolve._

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><p>Jean awoke, alert and on edge. Her heart yearned to experience that same moment with Severus once more, to have that familiarity she once shared with him. If she'd had his heart at seventeen, why couldn't she win him over again at twenty-one?<p>

Snatching her dream journal up from her nightstand, Jean furiously scribbled down as much detail as she could about her dream, only pausing when she was satisfied that she had documented it down to the very last torch in that strange room.

She already had the tiniest of crushes on Professor Snape. Well, that was a bit of an understatement.

"You bloody well love the man, Jean," she grumbled to herself as she swung her legs over the edge of her bed.

"He left that crazy world of his- ours," she corrected, "to come here. To see me at Perry's. To teach me. Unless he's a loon and he's stalking me, I'd wager that he has a vested interest in my well being," she reasoned.

Running her hands through her mass of tangled hair, Jean sighed as she toed her carpet.

"If my dream is any indication though…he didn't quite share my sentiments…"

Growling in frustration, Jean surged up off the bed, eying herself in her closet mirror.

"Doesn't matter. Not one bit. He cares about me, for sure. Those looks he gives me, Merlin, those looks…"

She blinked, replaying her last statement in her head. _Merlin_?

Waving it off, she faced off against herself in the mirror, propping her fists on her hips.

"Severus Snape, you had best look out. Because I am not letting you go, not again. We've finally found each other, and I'm none too keen on losing you. So you'd better prepare yourself," she said, jabbing her index finger at the mirror.

"Because I'm not so easy to shake off."

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><p><em>Thank you for reading! Please review!<em>


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **Wow! It's been far too long. I'm sorry this has taken so long to get out! I've been mulling over it for awhile, and I had to go back and buckle down and get to the heart of the story again in order to move forward.

But I'm back, and ready to get back to work on IWFYID. There's too much story remaining to just leave it hanging!

Thank you all for sticking with me.

And another big thank you to my beta, **LDaemon**, and my SBA (sounding board of awesomeness) **Rinn****y009 **. You are wonderful!

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><p>Severus stared at his 'guest' without speaking, his face contorted into a sneer.<p>

Potter had taken time out of his busy schedule being a celebrity Auror and father to come and harass him. Severus had no idea what the social call was about, so he merely stared at the Boy Wonder, waiting for him to speak.

Potter shifted uncomfortably in his chair, pulling at the neckline of his robes. He was in his Auror uniform, while Severus was quite comfortable in black slacks and his fitted tweed jacket that he wore to QMUL. He rather enjoyed some aspects of Muggle clothing, especially the jackets as opposed to his stiff frock coat and austere teaching robes.

"Potter, surely you plan on opening your mouth before the clock strikes midnight? I do have to review my lesson plans for tomorrow, and I would have your annoying presence here no longer that absolutely necessary."

Potter had the mind to flush scarlet as he shifted in his chair again.

"You're still teaching? Where? They say you haven't set foot near Hogwarts since the Final Battle," the boy stated lamely.

Severus raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Indeed. How astute an observation, Mr. Potter."

Potter's brow furrowed and he frowned. "Look...I didn't come here to talk about that... I know it's been years, and we've all given up...but I needed to ask you something."

Severus stilled as he stared at the younger man, his gaze intense.

"You threw me out of your house acting as if I'd insulted your mother, or your brewing abilities," Potter stated. "When I accused you of hurting Hermione, your reaction should have been enough of an indicator that it wasn't true. You'd only be that offended if she meant something to you."

Severus fell back on his trademark sneer, leaning back in his chair.

"It only took you three years? That might be a record, Potter."

Potter signed, running a hand through his mess of hair.

"You cared about Hermione...more than any of us. You kept searching, even when we all gave up. I've read the reports. You learned the tracking spell, you posted fliers...I know you loved my mum...but I think you loved Hermione too."

Severus stared at Potter for a long moment. No one in the Wizarding World knew that Hermione was very much alive. It was his jealously guarded secret, for he knew that if she were found, she would be whisked off to St. Mungo's and subjected to countless treatments and experiments to get her memory back. Most of which would likely not work.

She would be stolen away from him.

"Miss Granger and I had a very well established rapport, Mr. Potter. She was a brilliant, albeit annoying student, and I couldn't bear the thought of her death. So I endeavoured to make sure that she was not lost in the sea of publicity and forgetfulness that plagued Wizarding Britain after the Dark Lord's demise."

Potter shook his head at that.

"When I came back to the Shrieking Shack looking for her, after following an otter Patronus, I let you lead me to believe you had no idea what had happened. Patroni can change due to unrequited love, or because of feelings of extreme devotion or love...I highly doubt it was unrequited, given the way Hermione acted those last two years. I even checked that one with Flitwick."

Severus steepled his fingers on his chest, leaning back in his chair in thought. What to tell the boy? That she had fallen in love with him in their sixth year, though it had taken a near death experience for him to fully realize that he returned her feelings?

"Miss Granger and I…became close, over the course of your sixth year. I feel like I can safely attribute your survival and your irksome presence in my home today to the fact that she took our lessons to heart and was able to employ them during your countryside adventures."

Potter bristled at that. Severus knew that the boy considered their camping excursions far more than just a foray out into the country for some fresh air, but Severus couldn't help but pick at him, if only just a bit.

"'Close' wouldn't keep you searching for her months on end, Snape," Potter spat.

Severus nodded in agreement. "Quite right, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger and I spent your sixth year training and practicing warding, as well as learning any number of defence spells. I imagine had you not opened your big mouth and spoken the Taboo, Miss Granger's wards would have kept you safe until the end of your wooded stay."

Potter had the decency to appear ashamed, and looked away. Hermione had suffered greatly from his mistake. Bellatrix Lestrange had scarred her, and she had never seemed quite right afterwards. Yet she had continued to fight, and had stuck with Harry right up until Voldemort sicced Nagini on Snape.

After that, no one knew what exactly had happened to Hermione Granger. The Ministry had declared her dead after a year of searching, and awarded her a posthumous Order of Merlin, First Class. The _Daily Prophet_ had run a story praising Hermione's accomplishments, despite earlier misgivings about her character during the Golden Trio's fourth year at Hogwarts.

Testimonies were received from high and low, especially from Hogwarts staff who lauded her as a beloved student who epitomized her House and would be dearly missed. Nearly all the staff had submitted statements, except Trelawney and Severus.

Trelawney had spouted that the stars would show her the truth about her least favourite pupil, while Severus had given no comment, though he himself had not given up hope, and couldn't bring himself to submit empty, paltry words when he knew she was alive somewhere.

Harry had stood up with Ron at a Ministry held memorial ball, which honored those who had fallen. Harry credited Hermione with his survival both during the war and throughout his years at Hogwarts, and it was obvious that Ronald had lost more than a best friend.

Severus had watched, utterly disgusted with the Dynamic Dunderheads and their lack of faith. He had gone back to the Shrieking Shack, scoured every nook and cranny. He had run the trace the Aurors had given him countless times, and he knew there was more than there seemed.

As another year passed, the other two parts of the trio had given up hope, and moved on with their lives. Severus had not, and instead resigned his teaching post at Hogwarts in order to search for Hermione full time.

Everyone cited his resignation as war trauma, and that he needed to set out and live freely. But the truth of the matter was living without Hermione was a fate he was not willing to face.

Severus pulled himself out of his reverie, his dark eyes meeting the familiar green of Potter's. He no longer felt the tug at his heart at the memory of Lily. She was gone, and there was nothing to be done for it. But Hermione was very much alive, and Severus would bring her back where she belonged, no matter how long it took.

"I cared for Miss Granger because she did me a great service during your school years," Severus murmured.

Potter raised an eyebrow, frowning. "What was that?"

"She treated me as a human being, never disrespected me, and did her best to stand by me in a time of fire when no one else believed in me. That, Mr. Potter, is worth far more than anyone could ever know. So yes, I cared for Miss Granger. I will not stop my search until I've found out what happened to her."

Potter blanched. "You're _still_ looking for her? Snape, that's ridiculous. The Ministry's looked high and low. There's still a miniature Auror team running leads. She's not coming back. You should accept that."

Severus felt his temper slip, but he reigned it in as he rose from his chair to pace his study.

"Your lack of faith is disgusting, Potter," he growled, his back turned to the younger man.

"Your dedication is questionable, Snape," Potter seethed.

Severus looked over his shoulder at that, scowling. "It's appropriate. You and Weasley gave up without so much as a fight!"

"That's not fair! Ron loved 'Mione! He still does! But what are we supposed to do? There's no body, no trace of dark magic! There is nothing to tell us where she's even buried!"

Severus whipped around; without his robes it was a tad less impressive, but he was still intimidating as he towered over Potter.

"There is the root of it, Potter. You believe she's already dead. I believe that she is alive and well, and waiting for the Wizarding World to get its head out of its arse and find her."

Potter turned away, clenching his fists as he fought to regain his temper. Severus imagined that fatherhood had bred patience in him, something he had previously thought impossible.

"Snape…I get it. You 'cared for' 'Mione. But you've got the face the facts: Hermione is most likely dead somewhere, and we all have to accept it and move on."

Severus shook his head, locks of lanky hair obscuring his face from the young man in front of him.

"I'd suggest you leave, Mr. Potter, before we test the efficacy of Ginevra's Skele-Gro once more."

Potter's brow furrowed at that, but he acquiesced. "Thanks for your time. You need to let go, Snape. It'll be better for everyone."

Once the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Vex-Him left, Severus settled into his favourite chair, a glass of Firewhiskey clasped firmly in hand. The idiot's visit had been irksome, but made sweet by the knowledge that Hermione was indeed very much alive and well. It was Severus' secret nirvana, a place where he could bask in the glow of her memory, and the promise of seeing her again next class.

Dropping his head back, Severus closed his eyes and thought back on their last encounters at Hogwarts.

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><p><em>She had kissed him. <em>Kissed him_. Severus had thought he was going insane, that the little pit patter of his heart had just meant his vitals were elevated due to environment, or perhaps a cup of too strong tea. _

_If he had been concerned about his heart fluttering in her presence, it was nothing compared to the thundering in his chest he experienced after she kissed him then left with a determined gleam in her eye. _

_Severus had wanted nothing more than to drag her back into the Room of Requirement and demand to know what she was thinking, and perhaps require repeat instruction so he could understand exactly what had happened. _

_He hadn't known what he was doing, not really. She was nearly in his lap, and he needed to touch her. He had never intended to kiss her; stroke her soft, lovely cheek, maybe. But never kiss her. _

_Damned Gryffindor. She had closed the gap and he couldn't stop himself once their lips met. Pacing the Room of Requirement, Severus furtively let his tongue dart out, tasting her. Tasting Hermione. _

_What the hell was he supposed to do now? Taking stock of his feelings, he knew he didn't love the silly chit, but he couldn't deny that he had developed a strange fondness for her. Physical attraction was not to be discounted either. _

_He couldn't afford a dalliance. Especially not with someone so close to Potter. Yet he was loathe to give up the idea of having her petite frame pressed up against his once more. _

"_Get over it, old man," he hissed. "She's half your age, and you are her _teacher._"_

_A voice in his mind chimed in, 'You haven't had to actually teach her since fifth year. The nuances of brewing, yes. Defence tactics, she just needed a tutor. Surely you can't count yourself among the slew of aged professors that are included in her tutelage?'_

_Severus crossed his arms across his chest, feeling as if that little niggling voice had made some valid points. _

"_It doesn't matter," he growled. "I've sent her off, and I highly doubt she'll come running to the Greasy Git anytime soon for her carnal needs."_

'_She did tonight,' that voice insisted. 'She _initiated _that kiss.'_

_Flopping back down onto the couch with a lack of grace that he rarely exhibited, Severus ran a hand through his greasy locks, grumbling at the voice in his head. _

_He certainly had a way of picking Gryffindors he couldn't have. _

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><p>Severus came out of his stupor, brushing at the bit of stubble that was beginning to form. He had finished off his glass of Firewhiskey at some point, and had succumbed to recalling times with Hermione before her disappearance.<p>

Their first kiss hadn't been stolen, or coerced. They met on mutual ground, and had enjoyed the thrill of contact, of connection.

Severus regretted his sense of self preservation, and how it had forced him to drive her away that first night. They spent far too long dancing around one another after that, and the moments they did have were spent in dark niches and stolen during 'detentions'. If he hadn't turned her away that first night, perhaps they could have spent more precious time together.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Severus dragged his mind back to the present. Hermione was alive, and as 'Jean' she still retained an attraction to him. He dearly wanted to believe that affection would remain once she regained her memories, though he considered himself lucky that had gotten to steal a few more moments with her before it all came crashing down around their ears.

All he could do was wait, and approach her when the time was right. If her slip up regarding 'parchment length' was any indication, snippets of her memory were still firmly embedded in her subconscious mind, and all she needed was the key to unlock that door.

Severus was nothing but a master at waiting and biding his time, and he felt confident that Hermione's memory-loss could be overcome.

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><p><em>Thank you for reading and please review!<em>


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **Well, here we are my friends. I have come to a plateau of sorts with IWFYID, and we have reached the end of this particular road. For now. I made a lot of mistakes with this story, but a lot of good things came of it too. I learned what it's like to find a delightful readerbase, and have enjoyed getting reviews (good and bad) and seeing readers' desire to see how the story ends. Presently, this is the end of what I have written for this story, and all I plan on writing for this version. Sometime in the future, I will be enacting an overhaul on IWFYID, and rewriting it. Until that day, I will be working on some other projects, and look forward to retracing Hermione and Severus' journey through IWFYID in a different manner. You all have been wonderful with your reader alerts and favorites, and I hope all of you will stick around for my newer stories and the eventual rewrite of I Will Follow You Into the Dark. Thank you so very much for this journey, and the amazing experience.

Finally I'd like to say thank you to my sounding board **Rinny009, **my net sister **TycheSong**, and my wonderful beta **LDaemon**. Without you, this wouldn't have been possible.

This is not the end, my friends. Merely the closing of a chapter.

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><p>Jean was pacing restlessly outside of Professor Snape's classroom, wringing her hands. Professor Snape (both the one from her dreams and her chemistry professor) would say that she was tittering and for her to stop her foolish displays of nervousness. Her bravado had seemed plausible in her pajamas. Now, with the threat of facing him bearing down upon her, her little mirror pep talk didn't seem so impressive after all.<p>

Only twenty minutes remained until class started. Five minutes before her classmates, wary of Professor Snape's volatile temper and decidedly vile punishment assignments, would begin arriving.

Jean stared at the door, dimly realizing she had gained a slight tremor during her musings. With shaking hands she attempted to calm herself by running her hands through her hair, though she did nothing more than get her fingers hopelessly tangled in her curls.

Professor Snape was her Severus. Of that she was sure. Before last night's dream, she already knew she loved him. After last night's dream, she was weighed down by the knowledge that they had kissed, hopefully more than once.

She had _kissed_ him. And he had reciprocated!

Dread settled over her. Love was all fine and dandy, but how did one go about approaching one's professor with declarations of love? This was a bad idea. He'd get sacked if anyone ever found out. And what of John? What would she tell him?

"Oh, I'm sorry John. You see, I lost my memory. Funny thing, that. I spent two years getting high and shooting up heroin. I seem to have forgotten that little bit of information when you introduced me to your impressionable son. And to top it all off, I seem to be in love with Professor Snape. You know the 'git' you hate?" She muttered out the explanation to an empty hallway, pivoting to pace again.

Instead of stepping into empty space, Jean ran into something warm and solid. Putting her hands up in defense, she felt the scratch of wool against her fingers.

Stumbling backwards, Jean paled as a highly amused Professor Snape caught her elbow and steadied her.

"Miss Russell. You certainly are early for class," he said with a smirk, his eyes glinting with dark humor.

Jean's brow furrowed as she wracked her mind for an intelligent answer.

"Nifflers," she spluttered, then shook her head wildly, confused. "What...I don't..."

Professor Snape must have sensed her dilemma for he led her into the classroom and pressed her into a seat, returning to lock the door behind him. That tingle she felt during his office visit returned, lifting the hairs on the back of her neck and arms.

"What do you do?" She blurted. "When you shut the door? It makes me feel strange."

The professor raised an elegant eyebrow, peering at her closely.

"What was that you said in the hallway, Miss Russell?" He asked instead, cleanly diverting the conversation to another more important topic.

Jean knew what he was asking about. Knew that it would be a question about the memory loss, the heroin, or her proclamation of love. He had definitely been within earshot, and he had proven in class time and again that he had impeccable hearing. Perhaps it was from years of stalking the hallways at that peculiar school, chasing after 'dunderheads'.

Whatever it was, Jean was confident that Professor Snape had heard, though she quickly resolved not to give him the satisfaction. Not until she was ready.

"I apologize, Professor. I constantly tell John to be respectful, but I'm afraid he's a boor and doesn't know how to be," she said sweetly, smiling at him with a trace of nervousness.

Professor Snape chuckled darkly, nodded in approval. "There is no accounting for tastes, Miss Russell. I can only hope that your tastes...refine, and you find yourself in better company."

Jean blushed, lowering her gaze to the desk. "May I speak frankly, sir?"

"I don't see how I could possibly stop you," Professor Snape quipped good naturedly, and had she looked up she would have seen his eyes glittering with amusement.

"I...think we need to talk, sir," she murmured, wringing her hands. "About a lot of things."

"The least of which being Mr. Aldean's feelings about me," he replied. She looked up at him, her smile slightly hesitant. Their moment was ruined when a student tentatively knocked on the door, fearing the wrath of the cruel chemistry professor.

Professor Snape placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head back a bit further so their eyes met. He bent at the waist, pressing a kiss to her forehead before moving past her.

Jean sat fairly shell shocked, grateful that her professor had kept her in mind and pushed her into her usual front row seat as he opened the door and let the rest of the class in.

John promptly slid into the seat next to her, leaning over so his mouth nearly brushed her ear. "We need to talk!" He hissed.

Drawing back, Jean's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Last night! Or did you forget? You left me and Harry to go off and do some research for the git!" He grumbled, gesturing towards of the front of the classroom, where Professor Snape usually resided before class.

Jean saw him before John did, and couldn't help but smirk as Professor Snape moved behind John with silent grace, his gaze predatory as he crossed his arms.

"I'm afraid that the 'git' would like to know if you'd like to share yours and Miss Russell's discussion with the rest of the class?"

John flushed scarlet, scowling as he shook his head. "No, sir."

Professor Snape turned to Jean, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

"And you, Miss Russell. Would you like to share with the class what Mr. Aldean was so eagerly whispering in your ear?"

Jean shook her head, struggling not to laugh. "No, sir. Though I _would_ like to sit through today's class without any distractions," she murmured, sending John a glare that would have rivaled Professor Snape's on one of his bad days.

Huffing, the older man edged away from her, his expression dour as he unpacked his backpack.

"Very well, then. Take care to ensure that you remain quiet through the rest of my class, Mr. Aldean. That goes for the rest of you," Professor Snape barked, pivoting smartly then making his way to the front of the classroom.

* * *

><p>The lecture had ended, and Jean's head was so abuzz with new information that she nearly missed Professor Snape calling out to her.<p>

"Miss Russell," he murmured, collecting his notes from the lectern. "If you would be so kind as to join me in my office?" His tone, while quiet, left no room for argument. She realized that John would be upset, and she gleaned an almost perverse pleasure from the thought.

Looking up from packing her backpack, Jean's brow furrowed for a moment as the professor's entreaty took hold. Eyes widening in comprehension, Jean nodded fervently.  
>"Of course, sir."<p>

John glared at her as she left her desk to trail after Professor Snape. Jean glanced over her shoulder at him, frowning before following Professor Snape to his office.

He guided her into the rickety chair in front of his desk as he settled into his own, waiting for her to initiate the conversation. Jean fidgeted instead of talking, wringing her hands in her lap as she willed her courage to show its face. What happened to all that mirror bravery the night before?

"Miss Russell," he drawled, and she could tell his was somewhat irritated by the downward quirk of his mouth, and the slight furrowing of his eyebrows. "You had suggested we 'talk', and here we are. If you would like to see yourself elsewhere or within Mr. Aldean's oh-so-loving embrace, let me know, and I will be more than happy to have you out of my office, and no longer wasting my time."

Jean flinched, and realized it was now or never. He was angry, and she may not be afforded this opportunity ever again.

"Professor Snape...Severus Snape, whoever you are," she began, throwing her hands up. "You heard me out in the hallway. I don't have any memory beyond the past two years. I can't tell you how old I really am, my bloodtype, or even who my parents are."

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as he digested the information.

"What does this have to do with me? Other than the fact that you may 'fancy' me," he sneered.

Jean shook her head, her curls flying with the force.

"You know damned well what it has to do with you! You know who I am, Professor Snape. You followed me here, for whatever reason. I know you have answers," she declared, her fists balling at her sides.

Professor Snape stroked his chin, deep in thought for several minutes. Jean squirmed in her seat, opening her mouth to speak when he cut her off.

"Miss Russell, are you sure you want to embark upon this path? You may not be able to live this kind of life any longer if I tell you the truth."

Biting her lip, Jean met his gaze, startled to find that he was leaning forward, hands gripping the arms of the chair.

"I'm sure, Professor Snape. I can't live like this anymore. My dreams are too vivid, and it's all just out of my grasp. I know there's something more, that _I_ am something more, and I need your help."

The dour professor stood up, pacing the length of his small office. Jean was reminded of the powerful stride he exhibited in her dreams, and his tendency to 'billow' in any given situation. Suddenly he turned and walked behind his desk, planting his hands on the surface as he leaned towards her.

"What do you remember, if anything?" He asked, not sitting down.

Jean was unnerved, and was struck with the uncomfortable notion that he would leap over the desk and not think twice about hauling her up out of her chair and turning her out on her ear. When he did not move, she plucked at the hem of her jumper, swallowing hard.

"A castle. I remember a castle. It's strange, and wondrous, and I've seen the special room that we would meet in. I've seen halls and halls, with ghosts and wonders that I never thought could exist. I've seen friends, especially a boy with green eyes and black hair, and his red headed friend."

Professor Snape snorted at the last comment, and she guessed that he didn't think very highly of them.

"Yet most of all I remember you. You were the first one I ever remembered, Professor Snape."

She looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes, gathering her courage. "Severus. You are the one that I've always remembered. You were the most important."

He finally collapsed into his chair then, scrubbing a hand over his face with a low groan. The lines of his body were taught, and she could read the tension in his shoulders.

"You've been gone for three years, you know," he murmured, one hand still covering his eyes. "Three years that I've searched, since you saved my life, and told me you loved me." He fell silent after this, and she yearned to reach across the desk and envelop him in her arms.

"I still do," she said quietly, keeping her eyes on the floor. Now was as good a time as any. "Love you, I mean…I don't….you're just…" She growled in frustration, digging the heels of her hands against her eyes. "I don't care when you're being a git, or a right bastard. I remember you from Perry's, and how we'd talk over coffee or tea, and you were just…right."

He removed his hand, looking at her as he leaned forward. "Why did you stop working there?" He asked, his tone serious.

Jean shrugged, averting her gaze again. "You asked me about my future. I wanted a future with you, because you were Severus. _My _Severus. What if you didn't want me? Broken as I was, washed up. I'm not that girl from the castle. I'm Jean, and I didn't know if you wanted me or not."

"Well, Miss Russell," he murmured, his tone contemplative, "I can say with the utmost confidence that I would like to get to know you. I have searched too long to give you up because of a case of amnesia."

In one fluid motion he had stood up and circled the desk, holding out a long fingered hand. She stared at it for a moment, mesmerized by the pale skin that was abruptly hidden by the sleeve of his tweed jacket. Swallowing hard, Jean took his hand, a jolt of sensory memory warming her to her shoulder.

Severus gave a gentle tug and she was on her feet, enveloped in his embrace.

"Wherever this journey takes us, I shall be here for you," he murmured into her hair.

Wrapping her arms about her professor's slim waist, Jean felt a peace she hadn't previously experienced. Breathing in his scent, she hugged him tighter.

After all that time searching and making more mistakes than she could count, Jean was home.

* * *

><p><em>Thank you so very, very much for reading. <em>


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